


It'll Never End

by Heavenly_Stellar



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Action/Adventure, Alternate Universe, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Angel Castiel, Angel Dean, Angel Sex, Angelic Grace, Angst, Archangel Dean, Archangel Gabriel (Supernatural), Archangels, BAMF Castiel, Blow Jobs, Bottom Dean, Dark Sam, Dean Has Powers, Dreams, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Emotional Manipulation, Evil Sam, Falling In Love, Grace Sharing, Hand Jobs, Happy Ending, Heaven, Human Castiel, Hunter Dean, Implied/Referenced Torture, Kidnapping, M/M, Making Out, Manipulation, Masturbation, Memory Alteration, Memory Loss, Mind Manipulation, Misunderstandings, Nightmares, Oral Sex, Past Abuse, Psychics, Sam Has Powers, Sexual Content, Slow Burn, Smut, Soul Bond, Species Swap, Supernatural Elements, Telepathic Bond, Top Castiel, Torture, Transformation, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-28
Updated: 2015-01-28
Packaged: 2018-02-22 23:45:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 25
Words: 59,830
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2526086
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Heavenly_Stellar/pseuds/Heavenly_Stellar
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The angels have come down to Earth, some warring, some rampaging and others just following orders. It's a lonely world in which humanity scramble daily for survival. There's a group of humans comprised of hunters and those who won't stand for giving up and letting the winged dicks take over. </p><p>The Winchesters set out on a hunt for an angel. </p><p>Dean Winchester finds himself questioning which side he's on when he strikes up an unexpected relationship with their catch: a blue-eyed dark-winged angel. But things get a little more complicated when a series of unexpected events occur.</p><p>The human and angel change and become bonded in ways neither would have ever dreamed of.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Angel Hunting 101 Case Study

**Author's Note:**

> So I don't know where this is going... I'll be updating regularly-ish.  
> I hope y'all enjoy it!

The hunt for an angel was on.

Dean adjusts the rifle that he holds in a sweaty grip. It’s high noon- the sun’s beam is relentless- the wind is suppressed down where he stands amongst the trees but up there… The treetops sway violently with the wind that rides atop of them: perfect flying weather.

“All right, Dean?” His father murmurs, coming from behind to stand beside his oldest son. The baseball cap Dean’s father wears darkens his face. Dark curls peak out from it along with his blue eyes.

“Yeah,” replies Dean, looking to the sky. They’ve found a clearing in the forest and they stand by its edge.

“You sure this is the spot?” John Winchester asks, he looks about him, eyes cold and calculating.

“Pretty sure,” Dean nods.

“Oh, so ‘pretty sure’ now?” John’s voice turns sharp.

Dean shrinks slightly, “Dad. Chill, they’ll be here. Trust me.”

“Okay, son.”

“Dean,” Sam appears on his other side. “Come on, there’s nothing here, we should just move on.”

“Nah. They’ll be here,” Dean says with regaining confidence. He’d been watching their activity for the past three days from the watchtower beside the house. Ever since the angels came, they’ve plagued the face of the Earth, savaged people and their homes. No one even knows why. Dean has concluded that angels are in fact, dicks.

His younger brother puts a hand on his shoulder. “Please?”

Dean frowns at him, eyes quickly darting over to their father, John. The oldest Winchester skirts the edge of the clearing, neck craned to look to the heavens. Dean turns back to Sam.

“Sam,” Dean hisses, “now’s not the time for your ‘angels are good’ campaign.”

Sam’s eyebrows draw together. “You’re not the only one who’s been watching the angels, man. This particular group- the one led by Raven- it has _never_ attacked the town. It never tries or even comes close to the town.” Sam’s voice grows louder with passion for his theory.

“Keep it down, won’t you?” Dean hurries to shush him so that their father won’t hear them.

Sam winces guiltily then his voice returns to a whisper. “Sorry.”

“Okay, Sam, listen to me.” Dean turns to face him; he looks up into his younger brother’s face, absent-mindedly wondering when the kid got so tall. “Angels? They’re dicks. Always have been. Always will. Hell, they had no problem going all holy terror on us. Why should we care?”

“But Raven’s different, Dean,” Sam insists.

“Raven?” Dean feigns confusion. But deep down, he knows exactly whom Sam is talking about: the angel with the wings like a raven. The wings that burst from the flesh of this angel’s back are dark, sleek, and agile. Dean’s seen him a few times. Has watched on with fear and anger, and admittedly, a little curiosity. But fear and anger always take over.

“You know- the leader- he’s the black winged one,” Sam explains.

“Oh,” Dean nods. “So you’ve given it a nickname?”

Sam’s face crinkles with hurt. “Don’t call him ‘it’.”

“Why not? I’m sure they call us ‘it’ or ‘filth’ or ‘human scum’.” Now Dean’s voice is the one that is rising.

Sam looks away, knowing that Dean is referring to the older brother’s capture and assault. Not but six months ago now. He had been sitting in the watchtower. Minding his own business- well, the angel’s business- when the roof caved in and he was pulled out: unconscious and bloodied. He woke up- naked- but not alone, angels crowded in on him: clawing, laughing, poking and prodding. They grabbed him and took to the skies where he was thrown about like a toy. His memory stirs and he hears screams, laughter. He remembers the world spinning around him uncontrollably. The thought, the panicky emotion of death being around the corner, seconds away. Yet tantalizingly slow. Fear and relief rolled into a tight ball stuck in his chest, suffocating him.

Dean’s opinions about airplanes, heights, and flying in general have never been the same.

Not that anyone could use an airplane these days without it being swarmed by angels. Dean wasn’t even sure if there was one still intact in the world.

“Dean, I’m not saying that anything will ever justify what the angels did to you…” Sam brushes his fringe from his eyes, not looking at Dean directly.

“Yeah, well, boohoo,” Dean cuts in, not wanting to hear any more sympathy for what happened. His neck burns with embarrassment.

“Dean-”

Dean interrupts Sam again. “We’re _here_ to _hunt them_. Capiche? Not make buddies or whatever.”

“I never said that, I…” Sam objects, jaw working. “I know we have to get one, but, couldn’t we…” The younger brother trails off.

“What, ask politely?” Dean scoffs with a humorless laugh. “Have you been drinking sea water? Because that’s just stupid and- and- delusional.”

“I know,” Sam frowns.

“We _need_ one,” Dean gestures to their father, “because that’s what Dad and the rest of the town leaders want.”

Sam nods, understanding. “Do you actually know why, though?”

Dean is silent at that.

Sam shakes his head, fringe going back into his eyes. “So you’re trusting Dad’s judgment blindly. Again.”

“It’s not just Dad. And I don’t follow it blindly,” Dean says, indignant. “The council too. They want us to bring one back too. Preferably dead, I assume.”

“Don’t you think it’s strange that they’re _only_ sending _three guys_ to get one angel?” Sam questions.

“What? You don’t think we can get one?” Dean grins. “Gee, thanks for the support.”

Sam still looks worried.

“You’re a good shot, Sammy. We need you in on this,” Dean claps his younger brother on the arm.

“I know,” Sam replies with his voice quiet.

“And remember. Shoot to kill,” Dean gives him a reassuring grin.

“Sam. Dean.” John calls in a hushed tone.

The two brothers turn their heads to look at him- he points to his ear- and Sam and Dean listen. A high-pitched cacophony approaches them. Dean steps backwards further into the edge of the clearing and squats, to hide from their birds-eye view.

They’re coming.

 

*

 

The first one flies past. She is merely streak in the sky, dusty purple wings. As fast as a shooting star, and is gone as quickly as one. Dean locks his rifle into his shoulder, holding it firmly. If this had been any other case, Dean would have thought that cannons would be more effective against angels than rifles.

But today, it’s what is inside that counts.

Dean smirks at the thought of their secret weapon. An angel blade melted down and made into bullets. A crossroads demon had blown into town one day, a few weeks ago. The Winchesters, of course, had been immediately suspicious. The demon gave them no name. But he gave them an _angel blade_. It was the second one Dean had seen in his lifetime. They’d used one on him before. He handled it carefully when it was passed to him. It was oddly shaped, but in his hands, felt light and efficient. Silver and sharp, it truly looked to be a deadly weapon. It had to be.

After all, it could kill angels.

And demons.

They had found that out courtesy of John Winchester. With quick reflexes, he had stabbed the demon with the blade it had just given to them.

One, two, three… Three angels came into view. No, wait, four. Dean’s breath was taken away at the sight. Although angels were evil, they were very beautiful nonetheless. Dean didn’t have the time to fiddle with the scope. He removed the safety, looking over to his kin, the brothers nodded at their father.

Ready.

They only had one shot at this. Once the angels heard them, they’d either be startled away (which was pretty much wishful thinking, in Dean’s opinion) or they’d come down and attack. John held up three fingers and as seconds progressed, they folded inwards.

Three gunshots rang out simultaneously.

The angels bolt, shrieking, feathers flittered down to the ground in the rush. Dean straightened, neck bent backwards as he stared, drinking in the sight, assessing and calculating.

Did they hit one?

A daring angel with red wings made a dive towards the Winchesters. A fierce explosion of screams burst from the angel. Dean’s ears start to bleed but he ignores it. Everyone hurries to reload. Dean beat them to it and another gunshot rang out. Red Wings was theirs for sure. Then, something unexpected happened.

Raven swooped down- so quickly; a blink- pushed Red Wings away from the angel blade bullet’s trajectory. The black-winged angel was hit, in the shoulder and spiraled down.

His wings flapped madly.

His angel friends went to help him; he waved them away with his hand. The other hand pressed to the wound. He cries out, it was a warning, it was pleading and Dean sure as hell didn’t have to be an angel to figure out what Raven had said.

_Leave._

_Run._

Either or.

The black-winged angel fell to the ground and landed with an Earth-rattling _boom_.


	2. Behind Blue Eyes and Black Wings

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Last time...
> 
> "The black-winged angel fell to the ground and landed with an Earth-rattling boom."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ahead of schedule, so cue posting another chapter!

The world seems too silent.

“Good job, Dean!”

For once in his life, Dean Winchester doesn’t want his father’s approval. It’s so baffling; he doesn’t understand this pit he feels in his stomach. John stands over the angel.

“Wow,” John nudges the angel with the butt of his rifle. “Not as big as I thought. Have a look, boys.”

Dean hurries out of his hiding spot and approaches the fallen angel. He tries to focus on his anger, on his fear and yes, on his prejudice for angel-kind to block out the guilt that stirs low in his stomach. The angel lies on its side, form curled in on itself. Its wings have shrunk inwards, wrapping and covering it’s naked self protectively. Dean gulps as his eyes wander, travel over this beautiful thing. It has a face of a man. He has blue eyes- too blue it’s alien, exotic- and dark, wild short hair. Dean wants to touch him.

Him.

Dean shakes himself.

It.

The angel is an ‘it’ not a ‘him’ he reminds himself, as his father has reminded him countless times.

“Sammy, the cuffs in your pack, please,” John holds his hand out to his youngest. Sam stands further away. His face pale, eyes wide. With obvious shaking hands, Sam wrestles with his backpack until the familiar metallic jangle is heard. Dean turns his head away. He bites his bottom lip, tries to bury this uneasiness he feels.

“Dean, help me cuff him,” John steps over the angel to reach Dean. The angel makes a weak attempt to trip John over but the Winchester merely sidesteps it. John holds the cuffs to Dean. The older man is smiling. Dean takes the restraints with a shaky reply of a smile, but he holds the cuffs like they are poisonous. John crouches.

“Be careful with him, Dad,” Sam pipes up.

John ignores his youngest son and grabs the angel’s wrists, wrenching them away from the angel’s torso. The angel’s hands are red. They bleed red, like humans. Dean feels queasy. The angel puts up a fight, whole body wriggling away from John, wings twitchy and undergoing weird sort of spasms. Dean’s frozen to the forest ground as he sees a bluish light escape from the bullet wound in the angel’s shoulder. He opens his mouth to speak up about this, when suddenly:

“No!” The angel cries. Its voice- human voice- is shockingly deep and hoarse. John loses, and the angel forms a ball, face buried against the cup of his knees. He doesn’t budge.

“Stubborn thing,” John pulls out the rifle that he had strapped over his shoulder. He reloads it; it’s sharp click-clack causing the angel to flip on to his back and send a swift kick to John’s shin. Luckily for John, the angel’s wounds have incapacitated him so that his strength is that of a human: a weak human, at that.

John drops the rifle.

Dean falls to his knees, pushing the angel on to its back and restraining it with his hands: one at the small of its back and the other in between the points where the wings sprout form. Dean is glad that the creature’s mojo is temporarily inactive. His stomach squirms at the unfamiliar way the muscles in the angel’s back works.

“Hold the legs, Sam!” John commands, hands darting out to grab at the angel’s hands, which claw at the ground. “Dean-”

“RELEASE ME!” The angel screams from under Dean. One of the black wings smacks him across the face.

“Fuck! Ow!” Dean grits his teeth. “Feisty son of a bitch!”

John manages to seize the black-winged angel’s wrists.

Sam yells from afar, “Dad, stop it! You’re freaking it out!”

“Sam! Help us!” Dean shouts at his younger brother. “It’s not going to get any calmer!”

Sam hesitates.

“Do it!” Dean orders.

Sam rushes forward. With as much strength Sam can muster, he pins the angel to the ground by its ankles. The angel- worse for wear but determined- struggles, disturbing dust and causing a cloud to rise and surround them. Shouts from the Winchesters’ echo through the clearing:

“Dean, give me the cuffs! Quick!”

“Dad!”

“Sam, you better tie its legs!”

“STOP! His head-”

“Sammy, quit whining! It’s fine!”  
“Fucking hell! Will you two stop biting each other’s heads off?”

Along with the angel’s protests: it’s as loud as a carnival. Then the scrimmage reduces. With Dean sitting atop of the angel, with Sam tying the last knot of the rope around the angel’s ankles and with John patting down a strip of duck tape over the angel’s mouth… the angle gives up its struggles.

And they have finally captured the beast.

 

*

 

Dean slumps against the trunk of a tree, chest heaving. Once he has caught his breath, he laughs.

“We caught an angel,” he giggles, slightly in shock.

“What do we do with him?” Sam asks, face withdrawn.

“Put it out of its misery,” John replies, physically bristling with frustration. He picks his rifle up off the ground and dusts it off.

“Wait!” Dean squeaks, and then with pink cheeks, he quickly clears his throat. “Wait. Dad, he- it’s wounded.”

“So? We have to get back to the town before curfew. We don’t have much time since we got to drag it back with us,” John explains, temper flaring. “Better dead than struggling.”

John reaches forward and grabs the angel roughly by the hair. Dean shambles to his feet, grunting.

“Don’t, Dad,” Dean warns.                 

When his father doesn’t listen, the eldest son strides over and peels his father’s hand away from the dark tussles of the angel’s hair. The angel slumps back down to the ground. Dean bites the inside of his cheek, body pulsing with shock and leftover adrenalin. Did he just… stand up to his Dad? For an angel? What was the world coming to?

“Well then, what do _you_ want to do, Dean?” John ask, tone condescending.

Dean’s eyes flick to the angel and he feels a blooming sense of courage, as he recognizes gratitude shining in those blue pools.

“He’s wounded enough that he can’t survive without us. Don’t you think we could, you know, get information from it? About the angels and such? This one- he’s- it’s their leader. Sam said so.”

John’s head snaps up, and then he looks to Sam. “That true, Sammy?”

“Yeah, Dad.” Sam nods, face hopeful. “I think we could get a lot out of this one. In exchange that we look after him.”

“Why don’t you head back to town?” Dean asks, “Tell the council what’s happened. Sam and I can camp out here for the night.”

“Camp?” John’s eyes widen, incredulous.

“I know nada about angels,” Dean shrugs, “it might not even last the trip home. We don’t know how well those bullets work.”

But from what he had seen, Dean was damn sure that they worked just fine in demoting the angel of an ‘immortal’ status.

“I’m not leaving you and Sam out here alone with,” John spits, “ _it._ ”

“We’ll be fine Dad,” the younger son pipes up, “it’s not like we’re snot-nosed little kids anymore. I’m twenty-four now and Dean-”

“ _I’m not leaving you two here alone_ ,” John states firmly.

Dean feels as if he has been slapped across the face as he recognizes the reason for his Dad’s reluctance to leave. It’s not because he’s worried about them, it’s…

“You don’t trust us,” Dean doesn’t pose it as a question, because he knows the look in his father’s eyes and it is not trust.

It’s doubt. 

Dean sees the shock dawn on Sam’s face as he catches on quickly. The younger son’s jaw works. He goes to open his mouth, no doubt to argue. Again.

Dean cuts in before Sam gets a chance, “Fine.”

Sam’s head snaps towards Dean. “Dean.” His eyes are bright with anger.

“I don’t care,” Dean shakes his head with a scornful laugh, “I am way beyond caring now.”

He looks into his father’s eyes with his chin up. Why try to be a good son, for a father who doesn’t trust him? Truth is, he does care- a hell of a lot. But it’s over now. The man isn’t his father anymore, he decides, as he never really has been ever since the guy’s wife and the boys’ mother died when Sam was just six-months and him about four-years-old.

“John,” Dean tries to keep the shakiness- anger and nerves- out of his voice, “you’ve dragged us everywhere and told us what to do for _too damn_ _long_. You’ve hardly been in our lives anyways, so what gives you the damn right to tell us what to do?”

“Don’t you-” John flounders, eyes wide.

“Dude, I’m twenty-seven. Last year, before these guys,” he waves a hand at the ground where the angel lies, “came visiting, I was looking for you. Dragged Sam into it too after Jess… But, you just left us. I can’t fucking believe you weren’t even there for- not for me- but for Sam. The girl he was gonna marry just died. Because of us. Because of you and your crusade! And if you hadn’t have come to Chicago- and that was only because you thought it was the demon who killed Mom-”

“Don't talk about her to me,” John snaps. “You’re a grown man, Dean,” his father exhales heavily.

“Then- fucking hell- _treat me like one_!” Dean’s patience snaps as his emotions clash together like a stormy ocean inside him.

As his voice rises, creatures in the woods rustle amongst the trees as they’re disturbed by the noise. The angel puts his cuffed hands at the back of his head and tucks his head inwards, forearms covering his ears, as if he is afraid of the noise. It’s foot brushes against the toe of Dean’s boot. John is silent for a long moment that Dean knows that he’s got his father cornered and for once, he’s won the argument.

“I’ll go back to town then,” his father finally speaks.

“Okay,” Dean nods, not breaking eye contact. “Sam and I can manage.”

“I’ll leave you two to it, then,” John shoulders the rifle, turns on his heel and walks away.

“God, he’s such a bastard,” Sam grumbles as soon as their father is out of hearing range. His arms are wrapped around a khaki green tarp, they’re tense, and Dean knows why. The younger brother is waiting for the rebuff that usually follows a comment that insults their father. But Dean doesn’t say anything to defend or justify his father’s recent actions. And he’s pleasantly surprised when Sam goes,

“I’m proud of you, Dean.”

He just smiles- a tight knot in his throat- he won’t say anything back because he’s not one for heartfelt words.

 

*****

 

“Hey, Sam?” Dean asks, scratching the back of his head.

Sam doesn’t look up from hammering in an anchor u-pin into a tree; it holds the angel by the length of chain of the cuffs. They cut off the chords around the ankles moments ago. “What?”

“Are these tent pole things meant to look like an upside-down rhombus? Once you put ‘em together?”

“Upside-down rhombus?” Sam spins around. He tilts his head. “What the fuck did you do to it?”

“I don’t know! I just followed the instructions,” Dean waves the ratty booklet up and down.

“Dean…” Sam pinches the bridge of his nose. “It’s meant to form a _curve_. Those are for two _separate_ curves. The back and the front.”

“But-” Dean splutters, utterly confused.

“Give me that,” Sam hurries over and snatches it from his older brother. “Here, peg it in the ground there-” Dean frowns as the pole bends to dangerous points.

“But- OW, FUCK SON OF A- Ow!” Dean yelps as the tent pole snaps back like a whip, slapping him on the face. An angry red line mars his cheek. “SAM!”

Sam just laughs.

The sun has disappeared from the sky, and sits low on the horizon- a glowing orange arch. John had returned, with his arms laden with branches and sticks and insisted that they would need more kindling then disappeared into the woods. The brothers were glad for his absence, hoping that John was gone for good now. Once the tent is finally assembled, the first drops of rain start to drizzle.

“I’d hate to be Dad in this piss, he should be back in town by now,” Dean sits on the edge of the tarp on the ground. The front flap is open; a crisp wind sends a few droplets splattering against Dean’s face. It’s refreshing. Nice compared to the steamy day they were having.

“Don’t even think about him,” Sam says from inside the tent. He lays sprawled, legs bent, feet bare. He reads a book, a little crease in between his brows.

“Do you think that the angel’s used to the elements?” Sam asks.

“Nah,” Dean cranes his head to look at the angel who is secured to the tree a few feet away. “He looks pissed.”

“Well, who wouldn’t be? Shot from the sky… Beaten and bound… Left in the rain…” Sam lists.

“Still going with that campaign?” Dean looks over his shoulder. Sam looks up at him, upside-down.

“Aren’t you?” Sam asks.

Dean doesn’t answer. Instead, he slips his boots back on and pulls the retractable umbrella from his bag.

“I’m gonna go talk to it,” he tells Sam.

“Why? What you gonna do?” Sam props himself up on one elbow.

“I’m thinking good-cop, bad-cop?” Dean grins at Sam.

Sam glares at him. “I think he’s had enough bad-cop today.”

“I’m kidding,” Dean sighs. “No humor. You sure you’re not adopted, Sam?”

“Jerk,” Sam scoffs.

“Bitch,” Dean replies in turn. Then he pops open the umbrella and shambles to his feet. He can’t help but stare at the angel before him as he approaches. The creature’s knees and toes press into the muddy ground. He sits on the back of his heels: an odd position. Water collects in the feathers- they’re soaked and limp. Tied wings droop sadly. They had tied them up after Dean got a mouthful of feathers when they were cutting loose the ankles bonds.

“We should tie his wings up,” Sam had said, albeit reluctantly.

“Yeah, do that,” Dean had gestured.

Sam had huffed out a breath before he went to work, big hands gentle and words kind.

Since the angel sits spread out so Dean can see the wounds. They no longer glow which is either a really good thing or a really bad thing. There is one in the shoulder, which Dean knew about and one on the left side of the angel’s hip.

The angel’s arms hang loose- obscuring its pale face- fists clenched. Rivulets of rainwater trail down his arms, down from the roots of his hair- that is matted to his face- down the lines of his chest, down those fine-muscled thighs.

Dean’s so close to this magnificent being, his knees feel weak. He was in combat-mode before when he had tackled the angel, and now he can appreciate actually seeing one up close. Dean feels a tickling heat stirring in his stomach, which he recognizes all too quickly- _Nope_ \- he thinks instantly. No way he’s gonna get all hot over an _angel_.

But there’s something different about this one.

Of course, there’s a scalding burn under Dean’s skin: a hatred for angel kind.  But Dean supposes that it wasn’t specifically this angel’s fault about his attack six months ago. He focuses on the angel’s sculptured face. The angel ignores the world around him, ignores Dean with his head low.

“So, hey,” Dean says, feeling stupid, “I’m Dean.”

As the umbrella provides shelter for the both of them now, the angel looks up at him through water-assaulted eyelashes. Steely blue eyes burn holes in him. They bore into his green ones defiantly, yet... Dean sees pain in them, and his stomach turns as he deals with the knowledge that he was the one that caused that pain. Chains clatter together as the angel shifts; he’s trying to get closer. Dean holds the umbrella further out over the angel, ceasing the onslaught of rain on him. Cold drops attack the back of Dean’s neck.

“Dean Winchester,” he continues with gaining confidence. “I’m going to take this off, okay?” His hand reaches for the angel’s face, for the corner of the tape that covers his mouth. The angel flinches as the pads of its hunter’s fingers brush against a sodden cheek. Dean makes a noise of approval as the angel remains still. He rips the tape off and the angel grunts, eyes watering.

“Sorry about that,” Dean grimaces. He crumples the tape in his hand, stuffing it in his back jeans pocket.

“So, you got a name?” He asks.

The angel ducks his head down even further and shakes his head firmly.

“No name,” he growls. “No name for you.”

“Okay, okay,” Dean puts his free hand up, in what he hopes in a placating-manner. “So, angel, how about we help each other out?”

The angel is silent, but Dean can tell that he is listening.

“If you tell us everything and anything about the angels, we’ll fix up your wounds and then let you go,” Dean proposes.

“I will not betray my garrison,” the angel shakes his head.

“You don’t have to specifically tell us about _your_ garrison. Just about angels,” Dean waves his hands about, “and stuff.”

The angel squints up at him, suspicious. “How do I know you will not hurt me again?”

“I won’t,” Dean promises. “And I won’t let anyone else hurt you.” He adds, surprising himself and apparently the angel, who just raises an eyebrow in a scarily human-way.

“You shot me,” the angel points out, “twice.”

“Well, everyone should get shot at least once, it’s the best way to make friends between humans,” Dean jokes.

The angel’s eyes widen in pure astonishment and disconcertment. “Why-?”

“I’m kidding,” Dean cuts in with a shake of his head. “Never mind, it was stupid, you wouldn’t understand anyway. I guess.”

“Oh,” the angel responds.

“Ain’t you uncomfortable, sitting like that?” Dean questions.

“I do not like the feeling of the wet ground,” the angel tells him bluntly. “It is unpleasant.”

“One moment,” Dean shoots off toward the tent and snatches up a spare shirt of his. Sam raises an eyebrow at him. The Winchester returns to the angel and holds the shirt out to him.

“I don’t understand,” it says.

“Sit on it,” Dean instructs.

“Perhaps it has escaped your notice, but my hands are bound,” the angel shakes his wrists to show the hunter.

“Right,” and as quick as he can, Dean stuffs the material behind the angel- who moves so suddenly, hips jerking out. A grunt escapes the angel’s mouth. Dean’s mouth feels like sand as his eyes travel down and sees the beginnings of dark coarse hairs. The Winchester averts his eyes.

“Damn it, angel, don’t parade your junk to me!” Dean blurts out.

The angel makes himself comfortable on his behind, then tilts his head to the side, his eyebrows knit together. “Junk?”

“Yeah,” Dean splutters, “your,” he pointedly looks, “junk.”

“Oh,” Realization dawns on the angel’s face. He looks down. “I do not understand. I am not parading anything. Am I supposed to?”

“N-no,” Dean stammers, shocking himself, since when was he uncomfortable with this sort of thing? Dean rubs the back of his neck. He waves his hands in the vicinity of the angel’s privates.

“Just cover it up.”

“Very well, human,” the angel brings his knees closer to his chest, wincing in pain and gritting his teeth.

“My name is Dean. Dean Winchester,” Dean reminds the angel. “Not ‘human’.”

“I am aware,” the angel replies almost wearily. His eyes flick up to meet Dean’s. “Human.”

“Suit yourself,” Dean shrugs. “Angel,” he adds with a smirk. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry if there's any grammar/spelling mistakes and such. 
> 
> Hoped you liked and don't forget to kudos ;) Comments are welcome. I'll be posting Chapter Three soon!


	3. Night Full of Light

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Last time...
> 
> “My name is Dean. Dean Winchester,” Dean reminds the angel. “Not ‘human’.”  
> “I am aware,” the angel replies almost wearily. His eyes flick up to meet Dean’s. “Human."  
> “Suit yourself,” Dean shrugs. “Angel,” he adds with a smirk.

The next few minutes are filled with questions, which the angel replies with short one-word answers. However, Dean does gain something from it. He learns that there are nine ‘orders’ of angel in angel hierarchy: seraphim, cherubim, thrones, dominions, virtues, powers, principalities, archangels and the fallen. When Dean asked specifically about ‘the fallen’, the angel shook his head firmly with a defensive snarl. Then, Dean asked the angel if he was part of ‘the fallen’ in which narrowly escaped a kick in the balls.

It’s infuriating.

So Dean is glad for the distraction of Sam:

“Hey, Dean!” The younger brother’s voice calls to him from the tent; it’s slightly muffled by the sound of rain. At least, it’s not as heavy as it was before.

Dean turns his face, and sees his younger brother’s head poking out of the tent. “Food?” Sam asks.

“Yeah, okay,” Dean nods. “What do we got?”

“Just rations,” Sam replies holding up a tin can with ‘food’ in it. Dean balances the umbrella on one shoulder and claps his hands together. Sam throws the ration pack and it lands squarely in Dean’s palms.

“Thanks,” Dean says, fingers fumbling to peel the lid off. He peers inside, making a face at the strange goopy rice mixture. He tries not to think of vomit. Or maggots. His stomach growls at him. But food is food these days. “Got a spoon, Sam?”

Sam throws him the utensil, but then his attention slides to the angel. “You think angels need food?” He asks.

Dean seriously doubts it. “I dunno,” he says over a mouthful.

“Isn’t it rude in human culture to talk about somebody exclusively while in that somebody’s presence?”

The Winchester brothers stare down at the angel. He looks back at them unblinkingly. They look at each other with wide eyes. Dean shrugs.

“Um, sorry?” Sam says with his voice laced with uncertainty.

“Apology accepted, _Sam_ ,” the angel tilts his head forward.

“How come you call him by his name but not me?” Dean demands. Jealousy shoots through his veins as quick as a wildfire and as hot.

The angel looks up at him through his eyelashes. “He did not shoot me, or try to shoot my brothers and sisters. I like him better than you, human.”

“Well fuck you, angel,” Dean grumbles, pouting like a child. Then he straightens. “Sam. You didn’t try and shoot…” He trails off and rubs tiredly at his forehead.

“I couldn’t do it,” Sam admits quietly. His forehead wrinkles into one of those pathetic lost puppy dog expressions.

“Yeah, okay.” Dean heaves out a sigh, “bygones be bygones.”

“Don’t tell Dad?” Sam pleads.

“I won’t,” Dean promises.

Sam ducks his head back into the tent.

“You are Sam’s brother, I gather,” the angel pipes up.

“U-huh,” Dean hums around a mouthful. The food sticks to the back of his throat and the roof of his mouth. “Little brother. He’s pretty harmless,” Dean smiles.

“My brothers would peel the skin off your flesh with their teeth,” the angel says- but it’s not a threat. It’s more of a comment, almost thoughtful.

Dean chokes on his food anyways.

Dean stays with the angel until the rain stops and it’s dark. All the hunter can see of the angel is the outline of his body in the pale moonlight that’s shrouded by treetops. He can barely see the wings. Dean sits on the ground, ignoring the fact its wet.

For a long while, surrounded by the dark, it’s just him and another guy. Every so often angel’s azure eyes dart about; they hold mistrust, but no fear. Dean’s glad for that the angel’s calmed down. They need an angel willing enough to talk. Trust can be earned.

“So, let me get this straight- you-,” Dean shakes his head, a disbelieving laugh breaking up his words, “you ‘accidentally’ cut off his dick?”

“It was a small miscalculation of foot work,” the angel responds, tone indignant.

“ _Small_?” Dean repeats. “You sliced his prick off!”

“Well, yes,” the angel smirks- actually smirks- “that was small too.”

Dean’s almost crying with laughter, “Fucking hell, angel,” he wipes his eyes.

“Castiel,” the blue-eyes have a spark in them now, not anger nor pain- but something so human.

“Gesundheit,” Dean snorts.

“My name, Dean. It is Castiel,” Castiel repeats, ignoring Dean’s attempt to ruin the moment.

When Castiel says his name, he looks straight into Dean’s eyes, and the human feels a wave of warmth come over him. It scares him, because he wants more. It’s downright terrifying how quickly he’s starting to like the angel.

Dean Winchester liking an angel.

Now there’s a sentence that doesn’t make sense to the human.

“‘Cas-ti-el’?” Dean tries out the name.

Castiel nods quickly. “Yes.” His voice sounds almost excited.

Dean feels excited too. He wants to get to know Castiel. Wants to know more about angels. Not to attack them, of course, he isn’t that stupid. He just wants protection. Dean wants to know how to take a defensive stance against those winged bastards. He wants to protect the town. Sammy. His Dad. Dean shakes his head slightly, sending the thoughts away. Castiel is looking at him expectantly.

“Um,” Dean clears his throat. “Bit of a mouthful, isn’t it?”

“I did not choose it,” Castiel replies. Then he buckles forwards, whole body visibly tensing and shuddering. A string of words- not English- are torn from his mouth.

“Castiel?” Dean shoots up, on his knees and shuffles forward. “Hey, you all right? What is it?”

Castiel grapples with the cuffs, the skin on his wrists go red and raw as the metal rubs against them. His toes curl into the soggy ground. Dean’s left gaping and paralyzed as the wounds begin to glow again. A heavenly light escapes from the broken flesh.

“I’m fine,” Castiel pants out, “just-” he breaks off into a low groan.

“Shit,” Dean breathes out; he fists his hair,  “SAM!”

Sam barrels out of the tent, hair messy and clothes in disarray. “Dean?” He sees Castiel and his eyes widen. “What the hell?”

“I’m fine,” the angel bites out, chest heaving and tears marring his grimy face. “F-Fine…” he whispers before going limp.

“Castiel,” Dean shakes the angel almost violently. The angel’s head lolls about. “Son of a bitch.”

“Castiel?” Sam questions, looking lost. “Is that his name?”

“Yeah,” Dean replies quickly. He gets to his feet and starts tugging roughly at the anchor u-pin that secured Castiel to the tree with his fingers and nails. “C’mon Sam, get this shit off him. Grab the cuff keys.”

“What?” Sam asks sharply. “Dean, are you sure?”

Dean stops for two seconds. One part of himself is screaming at him: why trust it? Let it die, one less angel to worry about. But his gut is telling him: _trust Castiel_. Dean needs to trust him. Needs the information. Needs him alive. With as much certainty he can muster, Dean nods.

“Yes."

 

 


	4. Black Gives Way To Blue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Last time:
> 
> Dean stops for two seconds. One part of himself is screaming at him: why trust it? Let it die, one less angel to worry about. But his gut is telling him: trust Castiel. Dean needs to trust him. Needs the information. Needs him alive. With as much certainty he can muster, Dean nods. "Yes."
> 
>  
> 
> Castiel's condition has worsened and Sam works unwaveringly through the night...

Everyone is afraid of the dark, Dean decides, as he sits on the rain-saturated ground, grass stains on his butt and knees. No matter how people may deny it, in the end, they will always be afraid in the dark. Dean’s afraid of the dark, but he’s learned to cope by looking at the stars. One thing that Dean was sure that the angels couldn’t take away from him was the sky. The stars blink at him through the trees. His fingers move about each other, restless, entwining, tapping, crossing, clenching, and unclenching.

Time is so slow in these kinds of moments.

He looks to the tent; light peeks out from cracks in it and shifts as its occupant move about. Sam had kicked Dean out of the tent, demanding space and peace. They had moved Castiel into the tent and decided to remove one bullet: the one in his hip and see how it goes. Sam has steadier hands and went to work immediately after arranging his penknife, some dental floss, a sewing needle, and a fifth of whiskey.

“Hey,” Sam emerges from the tent, wiping his hands on a handkerchief. “I think he’s gonna pull through.”

“Oh, good,” Dean says, trying to sound nonchalant.

“Um, y’know, he lost a lot of blood,” Sam holds his palms out to Dean, which are stained red, “Like _a lot_. Like a buttload, really.”

“Okay, I get the idea,” Dean waves away Sam’s babbling. “So what now?”

“Wait ‘till he wakes up I guess,” Sam looks behind him, chewing his bottom lip. “Are you sure about him, Dean?”

Dean laughs. “Am I sure? What about you and your ‘angels are good’ campaign?”

“It’s not about that, it’s just… this… it’s not like you,” Sam scratches at his eyebrow, face drawn into concern and confusion.

“What’s not like me?” Dean questions.

“The whole ‘trusting’ a stranger thing. Hell, Dean, you hate meeting new people,” Sam kicks idly at the ground.

“I do not!” Dean exclaims indignantly.

“Yeah, you do, remember that Forrest guy?” Sam raises an eyebrow at him knowingly.

Dean frowns. “Forrest?” Then he remembers. “Oh. _Besides_ him, okay?”

“You shot him in the foot because he asked, ‘how are you’?” Sam deadpans. “Bit extreme don’t you think?”

“He snuck up on me!” Dean explains, tone defensive.

“You don’t even like making new friends,” Sam continues.

“What’s wrong with our old friends?” Dean demands.

Sam scoffs, “Most of our old friends are dead.”

Dean grumbles incoherently to himself and rubs tiredly at his eyelids. “What’s your point, Sam?”

“I’m just worried about you,” Sam’s voice softens, “you always sidestep new faces, and now _an angel_ of all things…”

“Hey, just cause I like this one, doesn’t mean I like all of them. They’re dicks,” Dean justifies.

Sam lets out a strangled noise, “And that’s exactly what I’m talking about!”

“What?” Dean asks, genuinely baffled.

Sam looks like he’s at the point of pulling his hair out. “You and Castiel- or whatever his name is. You’ve talked to him you’ve known him all your life. You even stood up to Dad for him!”

“So?” Dean shrugs. “You think I shouldn’t have?”

“What? No! It’s just… out of character for you, Dean,” Sam says. “Especially in company of an angel.”

“I dunno,” Dean responds honestly after a moment of silence. Was it really that obvious how Castiel was affecting him? Changing him? Changing his ideals? He’d only been hanging around the guy for a few hours. Those angels who’d attacked him were dicks. Castiel’s not like them. He’s a bit odd, for sure, but wickedly funny. Dean likes that. Likes that Castiel’s a fighter. Dean sucks in a deep breath through the mouth, the nighttime air cold and moist.

“I’m gonna get some shut-eye,” he says as he stands, brushing off his behind. Dean toes off his boots and places them at the edge of the inside of the tent. He walks in, back bent and tries to identify his bag from Sam’s. He edges around Castiel whom is lying on his side- wings spread out behind him- chest moving up and down slowly as he sleeps. Dean didn’t even know that angels did sleep. Once Dean finds his bag, he peels off his clothes, glad to be rid of the soiled feeling from the day’s events. Although he tries to be as quiet as he can while he tugs on a pair of worn jeans, Castiel stirs: soft grumblings and feathers rustling together.

“Dean,” Castiel rasps.

Dean smiles as he pulls a clean shirt over his head. “Heya Castiel.”

Castiel looks up at him. Otherworldly blue eyes shine up at him, hazy and sleepy. He then rolls over so that his legs are tucked underneath him. He sits up and stretches. His wings tremble madly and his mouth forms an ‘O’ as he yawns widely. Dean grimaces as he hears cracks as Castiel works the kinks out of his raven-black wings. The hunter collapses on to his behind, legs forming a pretzel as they cross. He leans back on his hands with a tired sigh. Castiel touches his wrists.

“All right?” Dean questions, then when he sees the angel startle from his voice, he adds: “Don’t go anywhere.”

“It is unlikely that I would be able to if I wanted to,” Castiel tells him, “Why did Sam not take the other bullet out?”

“We needed a fail-safe,” Dean explains with an apologetic smile. “You’d kick our butts if you were at full-power.”

“I understand, you need me weakened so you may control me,” Castiel says so simply, it’s like he’s talking about something so mundane like how the weather is.

“Basically,” Dean replies, unsure of what else to say. He clears his throat. “I’m gonna go sleep. Don’t kill me, okay?”

“I would never hurt another being who is unarmed,” Castiel states. Then suddenly, he’s drawing close to Dean- crowding in on his personal space. Dean feels an uncomfortable knot tighten in his chest as Castiel slides forward, the tarp crackling with the movement. The angel raises a digit and brushes it against Dean’s cheekbone. It sends shivers of pins and needles down his spine, but then he remembers: _Angel. Human. No-go._ Dean jerks backwards so quickly that the whole tent wobbles precariously. In his time, Dean’s been through a few questionable affairs. But he really crosses the line with interspecies, it was just too Beauty and the Beast for him.

“Dean!” Castiel yelps as the shelter begins to fold in on itself. Dean vaguely hears Sam yelling at them to quit it and stop fucking around or something. Dean tries not to look to deeply into the words, but he does anyways. His arms flail uselessly about, nails scarping across the fabric until the angel pins him down. His body is flush against Dean’s and they’re locked in a trance. Their noses bump together, and Dean can feel the angel’s hot breath on his lips. He’s abruptly snapped from the moment as Dean hears the tent groaning on the point of collapsing and a sock falls from God-knows-where and flops on to his face.

“What-?” Dean manages to choke out. “Get off me!”

He throws the sock away and it catches in Castiel’s wings. The angel scrambles away, feathers rain down upon them as the tent continues to wobble like jelly.

“Are you guys okay?” Sam asks from outside.

“We’re fine!” Dean calls out, the he hisses at Castiel, “Jesus Christ! What was that about?” He demands.

“You had an eyelash on your face. It was very distracting,” the angel shows him the tip of his finger and there it is- one of Dean’s eyelashes.

“Geez. Warn a guy before you burst his bubble,” Dean shakes his head with a breathless laugh.

“Bubble?” Castiel asks, head tilting in a bird-like fashion.

Dean gestures in a circle around himself. “Yeah. My bubble.”

“I do not see your bubble,” Castiel frowns, finger still up, holding Dean’s eyelash.

“You don’t see it. It’s just _there_ ,” Dean tries to explain, but then he throws his hands up as he realizes how stupid he sounds. “Never mind, Cas.”

“Pardon?”

“I said ‘never mind’.”

“You called me ‘Cas’.”

“No I didn’t.”

“My mistake.”

“Yeah,” Dean wiggles downwards on to his back, bunching up his jacket to use as a pillow. It’s weird- but he doesn’t mind the way Castiel looms over him. It’s not intimidating or dominating, he’s just an overshadowing _presence_. Minutes tick by. Castiel’s body eventually sinks, he props his chin up on his arms, which are out in front of him. He watches Dean intently from there. The angel looks tired, but determined to stay awake for a reason unknown to the hunter.

A bubbling laugh comes out of Dean suddenly. 

“What is it?” Castiel questions, voice slightly muffled by his arms.

“My Mum…” Dean sighs sleepily. God, it’s been such a long day, he thinks idly. “She used to say, every night, when she tucked me in at night… ‘Angels are watching over you’.”

Castiel is silent. His blue eyes are the last things Dean sees before his eyes flutter close. He thinks he hears Castiel say: “Good night, human.” But maybe it was just his weird imagination.

Sleep comes over him, like a heavy blanket.

*****

 

In the morning, Dean wakes up thankfully not curled up around the angel like he had feared he would. Sam was also in the tent, awake, reading that book of his. The younger brother notices his older brother waking, so quickly gestures him out of the tent. Dean’s grogginess is viciously slapped away by the breeze that chills him to the marrow of his bones. He shrugs on his jacket.

“Shit,” he gasps, “it’s freezing.”

Sam nods, rubbing his nose so much that it goes pink. “Probably angels stuffing around with the world, winter’s not here yet.”

“Or it could just be a cold morning,” Dean points out.

“Hope so,” Sam replies. Then he lets out a large sigh. “Dean how do we get him back?” Sam questions, thankfully snapping him from his thoughts.

“I don’t know,” Dean rubs at his face tiredly, his chin’s rough with stubble. “He could just walk.”

Sam shakes his head. “He doesn’t have shoes.”

“I don't think he honestly cares about that,” Dean wraps his arms around himself. “Goddamn it’s really cold. Can’t we talk in the tent?”

“Castiel might wake up,” Sam says, “He needs to sleep. He’ll need the energy.”

“Right,” Dean swallows uneasily. They’ll be bringing Castiel into town today. A thought strikes him so hard: “The dude _seriously_ needs pants,” Dean’s not bullshitting anyone when he thinks that the angel’s nakedness is not at all distracting.

“We can’t take him into town butt naked.”

“I have a spare in my pack,” Sam offers.

“I doubt it’ll fit him,” Dean snorts.

“Good morning,” Castiel appears from behind. His hair is unkempt, sticking up in odd places, like it had experienced being struck by lightning. The gauze around him for the wound at his shoulder has blood seeping through it, dark with age. Dean’s eyes linger a moment longer over Castiel’s chest, taking in the collarbone that juts out slightly, the adorable freckle on his nipple- Dean slaps himself in the face.

“Are you all right?” Castiel eyes him with concern. Concern for this human’s sanity.

“Fine!” Dean yelps quickly, left cheek stinging. Under Castiel’s careful scrutiny, his cheeks flood with red.

“Mornin’ Castiel,” Sam greets, interrupting their interaction.

Dean notices immediately the way his brother’s hand goes to the leg holster where his gun is kept. Not that it’d do much to the angel if it were loaded with normal bullets. Castiel seems to notice this as well, as his wings- previously upright and intimidating- fold in close to his back. Sam relaxes slightly.

“May I inquire to what the plan is?” Castiel asks.

“Well we’re thinking we take you to town,” Dean reveals, “then we’ll have a chat with the council and take things from there.”

“The council? They are your leaders?” Castiel questions.

Sam nods. “Yeah, but, don’t worry. We’ll make sure that no harm comes to you.”

“Thank you, Sam,” Castiel bows his head in Sam’s direction. “I am sure I can manage on my own anyhow.”

“Listen, Castiel,” Sam crosses his arms, “I can’t help but wonder… Why are you surprisingly okay with this?”

Dean elbows Sam; giving him a warning look and a message of, ‘ _don’t piss the angel off’_. Sam gives him a look as if to say, ‘ _what?_ ’

“With you humans shooting me from the sky and not allowing my warriors to burn your eyeballs out of your skull?” Castiel supplies.

Sam blanches, ignoring Dean’s ‘ _see? I told you not to’_ face and nods. “Y-yeah!”

Castiel shrugs. “I would like to know more about the humans of today as much as you want to know about angels, I suppose.” His eyes grow distant. “I have watched humanity for an eternity. When we came to Earth, I lost that connection. I miss the simplicity of… just watching over from Heaven…”

The Winchester brothers hold on to every word and the three of them remain silent for a moment.

Dean clears his throat, “So, Castiel, you okay to walk the way?”

Castiel’s gaze becomes focused once again. “I could attempt flying, but…” the angel’s hand goes to his shoulder.

“I don’t think everyone would be happy with you flying anyhow,” Sam brushes his fringe out of his eyes.

Castiel nods. “I shall walk.”

Dean puts his hands together. “All righty. Let’s pack up camp and get the hell out of here.”

“How-?” Castiel begins to ask, then, suddenly his body freezes up. Sam and Dean turn around from where they were, about to disassemble the tent. The angel’s dark wings are poised. He crouches, on the balls of his feet. The blue eyes are narrowed. Then, his nose points upwards, nostrils twitching and flaring.

“What the hell?” Dean grumbles, looking between the angel and his brother.

“Is he… _sniffing_?” Sam’s eyebrows threaten to crawl off his forehead.

Castiel makes a hissing noise at them, and the brothers’ mouths’ immediately zip close. All Dean hears is the forest. All he sees is: his brother the tent, the angel and the nature around him. That all of a sudden seems too dense, too claustrophobic for his tastes. Dean’s green eyes look to the sky. It’s hard to see anything- leaves and branches obscure it.

“Cas?” Dean breathes.

The angel’s hand rises and a silver blade materializes as his fingers wiggle. It’s an angel blade. Castiel’s expression shows that he’s a million miles away. Sam’s hand goes to his leg holster. Dean’s hand reaches into his jacket. Tense seconds pass.

It happens so quickly; Dean doesn’t even have time to react. Something black erupts from all sides of the clearing.

Smoke?

Then it’s so dark he can’t see, his finger on the trigger is useless. What if he hits Sam? Or Castiel? Dean hears a gunshot, then the wet sound of flesh being carved.

“SAM?” Dean calls, heart in his throat. “Sammy?”

The smoke becomes more than just smoke- it traps Dean. It blinds him. A skintight pressure that envelops him matching the panicky feeling that builds up in his chest. The gun in his hand drops. His arms get pinned to his side, legs immovable. Then something soft caresses his face. A breeze. The smoke clears with a sort-of pulsing wind and Dean’s able to see again. A sharp pain prickles in his insides. Disorientated, he slides down on to the ground and watches Castiel.

Castiel stands in the middle of the clearing. The world looks like it has been swept away. Two women a man lay on the ground- eyes brutally burnt out and for some- limbs missing.

“Holy crap,” Dean sucks in deep breaths; sweat clings to him like a second skin.The angel holds a man by his lapels, toes scraping the ground.

“Answer me, demon,” Castiel snarls, teeth clenched. “How did you find me?”

The man- no, demon, makes a choking noise then managed to croak out, “It’s kinda hard to speak when you’re cutting off my air supply.”

“You do not need air supply,” Castiel’s grip tightens.

“Sure, I do,” the demon purrs, then begins to sing, “ _I’m all out of love_ -”

Castiel throws the demon as if he was throwing a paper airplane; the man the demon takes form in makes a hideous crunching noise as it hits a tree. The angel uses his wings to propel himself forward and places a foot on the demon’s chest, aiming his knife at its throat. Dean takes a deep breath and shambles to his feet, head spinning slightly. God, what’s wrong with him? Usually it doesn’t take him that long to recover.

“How did you find me, demon?” Castiel repeats. “What do you want with me?”

“Not telling!” The demon cackles.

“You-” Castiel presses the angel blade into the demon’s chest.

“Where’s Sam?” Dean cuts in. Castiel turns his head around sharply to look at the older Winchester. Wildly, he spins around, eyes darting everywhere for some sign of his younger brother. “Sam?”

Dean’s shouts for his younger brother is mixed with the screams of the demon as Castiel demands,

“Where have you taken the Winchester? _Where is he_?”

Blood spews from the demon’s lips as it smiles. “Too late, little birdie. We have the Prince, and now we’ll win.”

“What’s he mean by that?” Dean asks, voice shaking with anger and fear. “What the hell is he talking about?”

“Oh hello, Dean,” the demon waves one-handedly. Castiel backhands the demon so hard it’s a surprise that it’s head does not fly off.

“How the hell does it know my name?” Dean points at the demon, shock plastered on his face. But the demon refuses to speak after that. Dean runs his hands through his hair trying to get his breathing even.

“Are you all right?” The angel asks him, gaze intense. “Come here.”

“I’m fine,” Dean limps forward, legs wobbling. “They really did a number on me though.” Then his knees decided to give way and he promptly fell flat on his face.

“Dean!”

Dean struggles to sit up. “I’m fine,” he insists.

Castiel squints at him. “No you’re not, they- one moment-” the angel grabs the demon’s hand and holds it to the tree. The demon lets out a screech as Castiel plunges his blade through the back of its hand, pinning it to the trunk of the tree. Castiel kneels besides Dean and gathers him close by curling one of its wings around the human.

“Hi,” Dean smiles waveringly up at Castiel, unfazed by the demon that shouts profanity at them.

“You’re hurt,” Castiel tells Dean.

“No shit, Sherlock,” Dean tries not to snuggle into the softness of Castiel’s feathers. He sees the little crease between Castiel’s brows deepen. “What is it?” He asks, tone becoming worried.

“It… is nothing. Be still,” the angel cradles his head.

“You’re a terrible liar, you know that?” Dean says softly.

“Be still,” Castiel repeats. But this time he places two fingers on Dean’s forehead and murmurs soothing noises. Dean goes pliant in Castiel’s arms and wing, lethargically, his hand threads through the black feathers. He smiles crookedly up at the angel as the world shrinks, and then fades into darkness; the last word that involuntarily escapes his lips is:

“Cas.”


	5. Grant Me Grace

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Last time:  
> “You’re hurt,” Castiel tells Dean.  
> “No shit, Sherlock,” Dean tries not to snuggle into the softness of Castiel’s feathers. He sees the little crease between Castiel’s brows deepen. “What is it?” He asks, tone becoming worried.  
> “It… is nothing. Be still,” the angel cradles his head.  
> “You’re a terrible liar, you know that?” Dean says softly.  
> “Be still,” Castiel repeats. But this time he places two fingers on Dean’s forehead and murmurs soothing noises. Dean goes pliant in Castiel’s arms and wing, lethargically, his hand threads through the black feathers. He smiles crookedly up at the angel as the world shrinks, and then fades into darkness; the last word that involuntarily escapes his lips is:  
> “Cas.”

_Dean is sent into a world of dreams and nightmares._

_There’s one where he lies on a picnic blanket that smells of grass and apple pie. He’s on his back and in the sky: Castiel flies, wings graceful and sleek. The angel somersaults and twirls in the cloudless blue. It makes Dean’s stomach drop each time those wings stutter in their movement because- what if Castiel falls?_

_Then black smoke comes and fills his eyes and when he struggles, there’s tightness all around him. It squeezes the life out of him. His eyelids feel so heavy and he doesn’t have the strength to open them._ At first Dean thinks that he’s actually awake. _Castiel demands he opens his eyes. But it’s too hard._

_A beautiful woman with red hair and round brown eyes kisses him on the forehead and the nightmares disappear._

_Sam visits him, a scrawny midget._

_It’s the fourth of July 1996. Dean smiles so hard his face hurts. Surely he’s in Heaven, he thinks, if there it’s still in business with the angels on Earth._

_He’s disturbed by an odd noise, a crackling noise: raspy and blocked. Dean identifies it as someone’s breathing. It sounds strangled and shaky, like they’re having trouble breathing. It grows louder and louder until it and his drumming heartbeat are the only things he can hear._ Oh God. _He realizes that it’s him. It’s him making that noise. His lungs contract at the shock. He can’t breathe- can’t breathe- can’t move- can’t see- can’t-_

Dean’s eyes snap open and all his senses return to him in a snowballing rush. He lies on his side, arms loosely curled around his naked chest. He practically gulps in the air, eyes fluttering closed again in the sheer pleasure of air filling his lungs. As he catches his breath, Dean looks about him with a rising sense of panic in his chest. Where is he? Dean slowly sits up. He has no idea where he is. It’s a small cave, a dent in a mountainside. It looks over a grassy clearing and dip in the ground with a moderately sized running river trickling past.

“What the hell-? Ugh!”

A twinge of pain shoots from his back and tears a guttural cry out from deep in his throat. He reaches back as far as he can and gingerly touches the area where the pain comes from. Stinging and aching, are two fist-sized lumps.

“What the hell?” Dean tries to look over his shoulder. “Fucking- ouch!”

His back screams in protest at the movement and he lies back down so quickly his head spins. Slightly better, Dean decides, lying down. Underneath him is a collection of scavenged items- all made of soft material- ranging from pillows to random scraps of fabric to… black feathers? Dean reaches and picks one up between his thumb and forefinger. He runs a finger along the quill’s shaft.

“Castiel?” Dean calls.

Nothing. The angel would have heard him if he were anywhere near.

God, he’s so tempted to move. His legs cramp up and he feels twitchy all over.

“I’m gonna kick your ass, once you get your feathery butt here,” Dean promises the feather. He drops it with a sigh. He wonders how long he has been out of it and where Sam was taken, and if he’ll be able to find him. Dean’s suddenly swallowed by guilt.

He gathers a ripped pillow in his arms and holds on to it, rubbing his face into the stuffing that spills out from it. Sam is probably dead. Or worse. What did the demon mean by calling Sam ‘prince’? What did any of this had to do with Sam?

Then Dean remembers Sam and his psychic-ness.

It had been so long ago and he had just pushed it to the back of his mind. The angels coming while they were in Chicago just made him drop all priorities and problems from the before. There were bigger problems then Sam at the time. Bigger then everything the Winchester had ever had to deal with before.

There was something that Sam had said that night in Chicago: in the alley with blood dribbling down from the cuts on his face. John walking away from them.

“I have a bad feeling,” Sam had said. “That something even worse is coming.”

Then the angels decided to come down. The dots connected.

Dean felt a headache blossom in his forehead. What if Sam had predicted the angels coming? Sam had been getting some intense visions. Dean suddenly remembers Max and his heart clenches. Dean groans, burying his face deeper into the torn-up pillow.

How could he have forgotten? Why’d he ignore Sam? Perhaps Sam’s abilities were somehow connected the demons. Maybe they got him to use him for his powers. But Dean hadn’t ever seen anything remotely psychic about Sam this last year while they battled with angels. Or maybe Sam just hid it.

“Hello Dean,” Castiel’s face pops into view, upside down.

Dean shrieks.

Castiel smiles faintly, “It is nice to know you are doing much better. I was worried.”

“You look- you’re…” Dean’s left gasping and struggling to move. Castiel _glows_. The contours of his handsome face almost radiate in a light that- Dean can’t help but think- is holy. Castiel swings down, magnificent wings waving and stirring up feathers and leaves. Every shade of black can be found in the dark curtains of feathers, glossy and almost fluffy-looking.

“You have changed, Dean, don’t be alarmed,” Castiel says soothingly.

The hunter gapes at the angel. “ _I’ve_ changed? What about you? You’re so- _bright_!”

It’s like staring up at the sun when clouds hide it. The angel’s body is surrounded by a muted- but still brilliant- luminescence.

Castiel clears his throat. “Well, if you’re going to do nothing but stare at me, I think I shall leave you by yourself-“

“Come down here, you little shit!” Dean sits up, shouting and panicked. _Don’t leave me,_ he thinks.

Castiel crouches close to Dean and pushes the protesting man down so that he lies on his side again.

“Don’t move,” Castiel instructs.

“What have you done to me?” Dean yelps. “Get the hell away from me!”

“I have done nothing but helped you. Calm down,” Castiel grumbles, he places two fingers on his forehead and Dean becomes limp. The pain eases a little.

Dean tries to roll over, but is unsuccessful. “What’s wrong with my back, it hurts-”

“I cannot do anything about the pain for your back,” Castiel tells him as he makes himself comfortable in the mountain of hoarded soft-things. “But I hope I shall make you comfortable.”

“What? O-okay,” Dean stammers, blinking dumbly, his eyes travel over the angel: drawn to the light that surrounds him. “Nice to see you’re wearing pants now,” Dean eyes the surprisingly immaculate (he blames angel mojo) black dress pants.

“Yes,” the angel rubs his hands over the fabric, “I had to conduct many conversations with humans and I found that it is better to do it attired.”

“Well that's nice. Can we get to the part where you explain _what the fuck_ is going on?” Dean demands, body wiggling with distress. “What are you still doing hanging out with me? Why didn’t you just leave me there? Do you know where Sam is?”

Castiel holds a finger out and presses it to Dean’s lips, silencing him. His eyebrows lift, sympathetic.

“I understand you’re confused- and afraid. I shall explain quickly,” Castiel says, removing his finger. “I don’t know where Sam is. The demons took him.”

“I gotta find him,” Dean says insistently.

Castiel sits, legs out in from of him, arms draped over them. “We shall. I have already been scouting areas in which there’s been demon activity.”

“And?” Dean snaps, feeling grouchy that he wasn’t the one looking for Sam. Instead he was too busy being comatose and sporting weird lumps on his back.

“Nothing. I am planning to fly over to the abandoned cities soon,” Castiel reports. “Perhaps you may join me once you are better.”

“What about your shoulder…?” Dean questions. The bandage Sam wrapped is gone and the wound apparently completely healed.

Castiel blinks, like he doesn’t understand than when Dean gestures, clarity dawns on his face.

“Oh, yes, it is fine now. It healed a long time ago,” he answers quickly.

“A long time ago?” Dean repeats, frowning deeply. It can’t be that long, his stomach isn’t howling for food and his mouth isn’t parched. He’s not even sure if he’s received a few day’s old stubble. It can’t have been more than a day since he’s been out. Unease swirls in his gut.

“How long has it been?”

“About three human months.”

Dean gapes at the angel, eyes as round as saucers. “What the hell? _How_?” Then he holds a hand to his stomach. “Why aren’t I hungry?”

“It’s because…” The blue-eyed angel trails off, and then sighs. “I attempted to heal you. But there was something wrong. I would have left you if you had recovered. But, the demons had put something in you. I don’t know how. You ended up in a deep sleep.”

“What? What’d they put in me?” Dean’s mouth goes dry. “Not…” he waves vaguely in the direction of his back.

“Yes,” Castiel tilts his head with a small shrug, “and no.”

“Care to elaborate?” Dean prompts.

“I don’t want to alarm you, but these…they are wings,” Castiel finishes.

“ _Wings_?” Dean chokes.

The angel leans forward and his fingers softly caress the bumps that sprout from Dean’s back. Dean holds his breath, body tense but trembling. Since when did Castiel get so touchy-feely? Then it hits him, he’s been with the guy for _three months_. Even though Dean only remembers those two very intense days. He relaxes as gratitude replaces his mistrust.

“Angel wings. They have been… incubating. Waiting to emerge,” Castiel shakes his head, expression baffled.

“So…” Dean’s millions of thoughts collide together. “They’ve been there for how long?”

“Long before we met,” Castiel answers, leaning away. “I am acutely interested in how you- Dean Winchester- a human, managed to receive angel wings.”

“I dunno,” Dean replies, his heartbeat is pounding like a drum in his chest. “I’ve no idea-” he cuts off, a thought striking him suddenly.

“What is it?” Castiel asks.

Dean runs a hand through his short hair. “Nothing. I’m sure it’s nothing.”

Castiel lays a hand on Dean’s upper arm. “Tell me, Dean. Any information you have could prove useful.”

“Well, about six months ago… well, it’d be nine months now…” Dean chews his thumbnail. He can’t get over the fact that it’s been three months. He worries about Sam, about his Dad, about the town, his friends. Dean clears his throat. “Anyways, I was- attacked- kidnapped- whatever, by this group of angels.”

“Continue,” Castiel leans closer, intrigued.

“They, uh,” Dean looks away from Castiel and down at his chest. “Hurt me.”

“Do you think they did something to you to make,” Castiel gestures vaguely at him, “this happen?”

“I was out for a lot of it. I kept waking up, feeling like a bruised tomato.” Dean bites his bottom lip. “Maybe they had something to do with it?”

“It’s possible,” Castiel says. “Unheard of yes, but possible.”

“So, then…” Dean has trouble formulating the words. “I’ve been turning into an angel?”

“Yes, slowly at first,” Castiel nods “until the demons came and inserted something in you. It’s speeding the process, it would seem.”

“Speeding it?” Dean demands, rolling his shoulder to test the pain threshold of the sensitive foreign muscles. He feels the odd bumps on his back- the wings- scrape up against the skin of his back. He sinks his teeth down into a knuckle so he won’t scream. Castiel’s wings perk up as he notices this.

“Careful,” the angel warns as he shifts closer with his hands reaching for Dean.

Dean pulls his knuckle from his mouth. “Why?” He questions.

“We don’t want your wings to come out prematurely,” Castiel replies.

Warm fingers guide the hunter on to his stomach. Dean pushes away the prickly doubt of Castiel and lets the angel touch him. Because really, Castiel’s the only one who knows what the hell is going on. Dean needs to trust him and not piss him off. For purposes of surviving whatever the fuck he’s going through and later finding Sam. The nest of ripped blankets and pillow are hot with Dean’s body heat and he wiggles in discomfort as the quill of a free feather jab into his bare tummy.

“What’re doing?” Dean swallows.

“I cannot just leave you in pain,” he hears Castiel say.

Dean fights the urge to scratch the back of his head. “Why not?”

Dean suddenly feels something unpleasant twisting in his gut like a knife. Why was Castiel staying? It didn’t make sense to him. Dean had stood up for him. Hell, maybe even protected him a little. Now it’s Castiel who’s protecting him. The dark-winged angel runs the pads of his fingertips along Dean’s back.

“What’s the matter?” His voice softens, making Dean feel exposed. “You think you don’t deserved to be saved?”

The angel’s fingers knead downwards. Dean feels his skin around the protuberances on his back pinch and stretch painfully. Dean stuffs his mouth with three of his fingers and bites down on them, grateful for an excuse not to reply to Castiel’s probing questions.

“It hurts,” Dean grumbles out from around his fingers, not caring that drool spills over them.

“Apologies,” Castiel says, voice devoid of emotion. “This is necessary.”

Dean’s got a protest on the tip of his tongue until the point where Castiel’s fingers slid in between his shoulder blades and it morphs into a wanton moan. The hunger feels his body go as limp as a noodle. He melts into the nest as Castiel works almost merciless into his backs. The angel loosens knots and calms the sting of the new wing stubs. It’s _Heaven_.

“Ooh- little to the left- O-oh yeah…” Dean lets an easy, almost dopey, smile slide on to his face as he arches backwards into the touch. Then something peculiar sweeps through his body like a warm breeze on a cold day. It’s pleasant and smooth like chocolate melting in your mouth and it’s got Dean craving for more.

“Cas? What did you just do?” Dean asks lethargically.

“This transformation of yours has been tough on you, Dean,” Castiel tells him. “I’ve been passing some of my grace to you to help you through it.”

“Grace?” Dean questions, curious.

“A divine energy. It is what makes me an angel,” Castiel explains.

Dean finds himself becoming fond of the sound of the angel’s rough voice. He sighs. His eyes are fluttering as sleepiness threatens to pull him under.

“Okay,” Dean breathes out. “I may black out now.”

“Okay,” Castiel says. “I shall be here when you wake up.”

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So yeah, that happened.
> 
> I should probably get round to changing the tags up a bit, shouldn't I? XD


	6. Winter's Coming

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Last time:
> 
> “Okay,” Dean breathes out. “I may black out now.”
> 
> “Okay,” Castiel says. “I shall be here when you wake up.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Castiel 3rd-Person POV this chapter!

Castiel flies with the wind and he lets his wings guide him above the world. He travels for many human miles at a leisurely state. He approaches a smoldering human city left in ruins by angel kind. The city is an illustration of destruction with smoking husks of buildings and piles of rubble. The angel tucks his wings in and dives. A small smile curves his lips as the force of the wind struggles against him. Although the angel was born an instrument of war, of service, to fly is so freeing. Castiel defies gravity and suddenly unfolds his wings to the full extent. His movement disturbs the silent city; particles of all sort burst out and up into the open, creating waves of dust. Litter and old newspaper sheets dance and somersault along the ground.  Castiel’s hand catches on a metal pipe that protrudes from a broken building. He swings in a full circle and perches on it, grip on the smooth but dusty support released. The angel stills his restless wings.

He longs to fly for longer.

Often he had stayed in the nest he had built for Dean Winchester, sometimes for days on end. Would let his eyes wander over the serene emotion that relaxed the human’s face. He had memorized the constellation of freckles over the bridge of Dean’s nose. Castiel had watched the Dean’s soul undergo a metamorphosis, once a dull but pure light in the human’s chest. It illuminated a little more every day, then the growths on Dean’s back appeared and Castiel knew immediately what they were. Watching him, caring for him, sheltering him, Castiel would wonder when he would wake. When the transformation would complete.

Castiel watched over Dean for months.

Like what the human’s mother had said, ‘angels are watching over you’. He follows her wishes.

The human is different, is special.

Even without the mystery of the wings and the abomination of a brother.

Castiel’s keen blue eyes scan sections of the supposedly abandoned human city. Cities were easy targets. They were eyesores to Castiel’s superiors. Although the angel did lead a garrison of angels, he definitely was not a seraph. He snorts in amusement at the thought.

Castiel senses the presence of an angel behind him.

A female angel with wings of a ghostly dove grey, surrounded by a soft yellow light, appears beside him. She balances on the pole he crouches on. She is dressed in white, pale face framed with curls of red hair.

“Anael,” Castiel’s wings lower instinctively.

“Castiel, there’s no need for that,” she says in Enochian, their native tongue. She reaches over and guides his wings to their usual height. “We are the same.”

“You are my superior, an archangel,” Castiel shifts uncomfortably. “I cannot help it, even after all this time.”

“Would you bow down to The Fallen Archangel? He technically is also your superior,” Anael points out.

“No of course not,” Castiel says immediately.

Anael smiles. “How fares the human in your custody? Is the demon’s poison making him ill?”

“He is strong and is recovering surprisingly well for a human,” Castiel reports. “His wings will come soon.”

“Good,” Anael nods. “He is one of our last hopes. Don’t let him die, Castiel.”

“I won’t,” Castiel promises. “How is the war? How is my garrison?”

“Uriel is managing without you, he whines sometimes,” her laugh is like a tinkling bell, “but has not yet told them of your being alive, thankfully.”

“Good,” Castiel sighs with relief. “This mission will flow much smoother without their incessant worrying.”

“Agreed,” Anael says.

They lapse into a silence. Castiel hesitates, knuckles turning white as he grips the smooth metal tighter. There’s something Dean had revealed which bothered him, worried him, made him doubt. Which was never a good sign.

Castiel clears his throat, “Anael, was Dean Winchester kidnapped and assaulted nine months ago?”

“Yes,” she replies without an ounce of compassion, which truly frightens him. “We altered him. Discreetly, so he would not notice.”

“Why?” Castiel asks, voice wavering in strength. “We need him co-operative. Why Dean? Why without his consent? He said they had hurt-”

“It will be revealed in good time, Castiel,” Anael says, tone turning firm.

Castiel frowns so deeply, he can feel an ache in his mind. He suddenly sees a gaping hole of uncertainty in his thoughts, in his orders.

“You always tell me that I should question orders…” Castiel presses “To think for myself… I must know, please, Ana-”

Her eyes flash dangerously. “No.”

He looks away. “Yes, Anael.”

Anael places her hand atop of Castiel’s. “I’m sorry, Castiel, but I’m under strict orders from Michael.”

“You were never one to follow orders,” Castiel mumbles.

“Times are hard,” she says. “Sometimes we just have to do what we’re told.”

“What is wrong?” Castiel asks, suddenly worried by the gentleness of Anael’s voice. It sounds so hopeless, not its usual strong tone filled with determination. “Have we lost another battle? What are the casualties?”

“No, no,” she shakes her head, hair bouncing against her shoulders. “It is better you do not know, you have too many things on your mind already.”

“If you do not tell me, it will still weigh on my mind,” Castiel retorts.

“All you should think is that we are winning,” Anael replies vaguely.

“Are we?” Castiel demands, feeling impatient and frustrated. “Do you need me, Anael? I can take a unit of angels to the west and claim-”

Anael shushes him. “We need you here, Castiel, with the human. He knows your face, trusts you. It was pure luck and timing they captured you when they did. We must take advantage of your already existing relationship.”

“Very well,” Castiel replies grudgingly.

“I shall leave you to it,” Anael brushes one of her larger wings against Castiel in a gesture of fondness and takes off to the skies.

Castiel crouches there for a long time, trying to piece the puzzle together. There are many pieces missing, things that lead to nowhere, things that happened that should not have. The day he’d been shot from the sky by angel blade bullets had been an important day. He had been ordered to deliver a message of surrender. He can still feel the shame pooling deep in his core. Then came the explosion of primitive human weapons and the garrison’s captain was out of the game. Castiel was actually looking forward to spending time with the humans. Dean had intrigued him, Sam was a very decent human and John… no comment on that one, really. The whole affair had meant time off for him in the long run. Then the demons took Sam away, Dean was dying in his arms and Anael came from above.

She gave him orders.

He followed them.

And here he was.

He feels cold all of a sudden, a nip of icy wind. Castiel’s head shoots up in surprise. And there, a snowflake dances in the sky. Castiel bites his bottom lip in worry.

Lucifer is moving.

Castiel wonders if Sam is with him.


	7. Break Free

Dean wakes up screaming.

He puts his arms out in front of him, fists clenching around whatever they can reach. His knees wobble uncontrollably as he reverses, on to all fours. His cries ebb and wane, his cheeks are puffing out for frantic gasps for air and his eyes squeeze shut. The bumps on his back are physically dragging him backwards, Dean feels them swelling, seconds away from breaking point.

“ _Cas_!” He howls, vocal chords burning and breaking.

The hunter forces his eyes to open and look about his surroundings: light fills the small cave with early evening light. His boot-clad feet scuff against the back of the impromptu home. His eyes dart around in search of Castiel.

No black wings in sight.

No blue eyes.

No voice to tell him he’s fine.

A chasm of loneliness digs into him. He’s hot all over and there’s a compelling urge to strip.

“Calm down- Calm down- Oh, God…” he groans reassuringly into his hands as sobs are unwillingly torn from deep in his chest.

Dean’s body convulses and jerks unpredictably but he’s gained enough control to lower himself back on the ground to ease the strain on his limbs. His hips are wrenched up and down as he clumsily shucks his jeans off along with his underwear.

Dean’s breathing turns even more ragged as his limbs get tangled with each other. His remaining clothes get caught, pooled at his ankles.

The boots are thrown out of the cave.

He forces himself to crawl forward. He curls into a ball in a corner of the cave, back to the world. Dean leans into the cool rock, sweating profusely. He can get through this alone, he decides, he’s going to be fine.

Then the skin on his back breaks and it burns as hot as fire.

_“CAS!”_

The pain intensifies until the point where Dean can’t form words. He howls, and what is being ripped from deep in his core and out through his mouth is nothing human. The remnants of Dean’s human sense of hearing discern an angel voice, an unintelligible high-pitched din.

That’s _his voice_ , Dean realizes, feeling a trembling sort of anticipation.

He feels an unrecognizable substance slide down his back. Dean shivers. Abruptly, he sucks in a deep breath as cool air meets with his- he supposes, hatching- wings.

“ _Ah-!_ Oh, GOD! FUCK! CAS! HELP!" 

Dean then grinds his teeth together, fingers uselessly clawing, to the point of breaking his nails, at the cave walls. He does it because frankly, he’ll do anything to distract himself from this pain, even if that means more pain elsewhere. Dean’s nails move to his forearms and dig into the flesh there.

He bites his bottom lip. He tastes the copper tang of blood.

“What the hell?” Dean gasps out, looking at the back of his hands.

His nails begin to heal.

The bloodied and cracked ones slowly morph into slightly pink curves. He no longer tastes blood in his mouth. It seems, after what feels like hours, his body finally becomes acclimatized to the pain. His brand new, shiny angel side has decided to help him through it.

Dean’s chest rises and falls evenly now. _It’s okay_ , he tells himself. _I think we’re going to be okay_.

He’s not sure how far along his wings have gone. Dean sure as hell does not want to look. There’s a hollow, squeamish feeling in his stomach when he thinks about it.

There’s a fluttering sound of wings, a sharp intake of breath behind him and Dean knows the Castiel’s back.

“Finally, you son of a bitch,” Dean moans out. “Where the hell have you been?”

Castiel hurries into the shelter so quickly it sends bits of pillow stuffing and feathers flitting about. Dean’s bottom lip trembles as he feels Castiel’s hands stroke up and down his back, obviously not caring about the sludge that coats it. He takes care not to touch Dean’s emerging wings.

“I am so sorry, Dean,” Castiel says into his ear, breath tickling the hairs on the back of Dean’s neck.

“Just- help me out here- won’t you?” Dean replies shakily. “Knock me out with your angel mojo or something.”

“I can’t,” Castiel growls, tone laced with frustration- not aimed at Dean but at himself.

Dean almost blacks out all by himself at the news. “Why not?” He whines.

The older angel places a hand on Dean’s shoulder, the grounding and steady beacon in the whirlwind of chaos that the soon-to-be angel is in. A prickle of fear itches at the back of his mind.

The action reminds Dean of the countless times Sam has had to lock back in a dislocated shoulder; a reassuring encouragement for a final push.

Dean sincerely hopes that what he imagines in his head is not what he has to do in real life.

“Come here, Dean,” Castiel breaks him out of his reverie. “On your feet.” He supports Dean around the waist and hauls him upward.

Their eyes meet.

A message- between the blue and green eyes- of trust, comfort and hope all wrapped into one.  Dean can’t even stand and Castiel has to drag him along. The angel guides his charge down back to the ground.

“On your stomach, here,” Castiel quickly shifts some pillows closer so that Dean can rest atop of them.

Dean lies down awkwardly, arms still wrapped around Castiel’s bare torso, embarrassingly tight. He’s too glad to have someone here to tell him what to do and knows what to do. He doesn’t give a rat’s ass that he’s as naked as the day he was born.

“Let go,” Castiel instructs and he replaces his presence with a plush pillow. It’s a dusty blue colour and Dean eagerly holds on to it. Castiel moves about behind him.

“What now, Cas?” Dean questions, much calmer.

He looks determinedly forward, not sure how he would react to seeing his wings half-emerged. Plus there's the fact that he’s so very naked and very close to an angel of the Lord, who is behind him, watching over.

“I need you to push,” Castiel tells him.

“Shit,” Dean wipes his face. “Are you serious?”

“Very,” Castiel replies.

Dean’s silent for a long moment. This is so ridiculous that Dean’s tempted to laugh. It’s like he’s being asked to give birth- to a set of wings. Then he’ll have to learn how to control them, how to fly. Dean holds in a whimper.

Learn to fly.

Him. Dean Winchester.

Dean, who is absolutely petrified of flying and heights. God must be stuffing his face with popcorn right now; chuckling sardonically at the plight Dean finds himself in. He remembers those angels who had taken him- who had assaulted him- the ones he based his judgments of angels on.

Then he met Castiel. Well, shot him twice, but that’s beside the point.

 _Those dicks won’t know what hit them when they see me_ , Dean thinks.

He’s gonna be an angel.

He can get his revenge; he’ll be powerful enough. He knows all too well the faces that tormented him.

He can find Sam. Of all people, Dean knows that Sam will accept him even with the addition of wings and mojo.

He can accomplish all of this now, and even better, with the help and company of Castiel. Dean is startled out of his thoughts by the rough feeling of a cloth wiping his back. The hunter clenches his fists.

“Dean?” Castiel prompts.                  

“Okay,” Dean exhales, tone hardening. “Let’s get this over with.”


	8. The Fall

Dean had never felt so exposed in his life as he did the night when his wings came.

His memory- of the wings breaking free from the confines of the flesh on his back- is spotty. It comes to him in quick flashes. Lying on his stomach. Naked. Butt practically in the air.

His back splitting open, blood- puss- goo- all kind of shit oozing from where is wings came from. The logistics are still a mystery to Dean. It is very much so beyond him how each wing, a little bigger than four feet, managed to fit in his back in what started as two fist-sized lumps.

Mostly he remembers the sound of Castiel’s deep voice. The older angel had cooed words of comfort and encouragement. At one point, Dean remembers Castiel fingers threading through his short hair. Soft tugs at the back of his head, massaging fingertips, Dean leaning into the touch.

“Cas?” Dean speaks into the still, quiet dark of the approaching dawn.

He lies on his stomach, arms tucked underneath him, chin resting on his hands. The blanket the two of them share shifts as Castiel rolls on to his side. Dean feels his face heat up as the material slips over the curve of his behind.

He doesn’t have the strength to fix it. But the angel senses the insecurity and tugs the blanket to shield the newly made angel’s privacy. The soft glow of Castiel’s figure chases the darkness away. Dean will never get used to seeing angels in their ‘true forms’ or whatever.

“Is your back bothering you?” Castiel asks, voice slurring with drowsiness. His pretty blue eyes blink at him slowly.

“Yeah, but,” Dean lowers his gaze “I… wanted to know what’s happened these last three months.”

Castiel releases a long exhale, flops on to his back, hand coming up to rest on his bare chest. “It is a long and complicated story, to which, some details have escaped me.”

“We got time,” Dean whispers, becoming too weak to manage his normal voice. “I wanna know everything you know.”

Castiel head dips in a small nod. “After you went into the deep sleep I interrogated the demon. He provided useful information, information about your brother.”

Dean enlivens. “Sam?”  
“He is much more involved in this than I ever would have imagined,” Castiel says, voice breathy. “The demon said these words: ‘Azazel has plans for Lucifer’s chosen Prince’.”

Prince. There was that word again.

“What’s Sam gotta do with it?” Dean shivers, beginning to chew on his fingernails. “T-That can’t be Sam.”

“It is,” Castiel deadpans.

“No, no, no,” Dean shakes his head persistently. “Can’t be. Not Sam, he’s just a kid. He’s a good guy.”

Castiel cranes his head to the side and he reaches over until the back of his fingers touching Dean’s bicep.

“I am sorry,” Castiel says and Dean hates the way it sounds like the angel is giving him condolences for losing somebody.

“I don’t believe it,” Dean shrinks away from the touch. “Sam would never do anything for Satan. I know he’s got problems, but he’s strong enough-”

“That doesn’t matter,” Castiel interrupts. “Evil may overcome him, if the devil is involved, we can be certain that Sam will break.”

Dean feels the growing pressure in his chest snap as he hears those words. _Sam will break_. He quickly turns his head the other way, facing away from Castiel.

“Dean?”

“Don’t worry. M’ fine,” Dean’s voice is flat even as a lonely tear makes a journey across his face; it burns like a knife cutting into him.

_Sammy_.

Dean mentally pleads to whoever may be listening: God, maybe, if he cares. _Please, don’t let him be hurt_. When Dean quietly sniffles, there’s a sudden movement of limbs and wings next to him. He buries his face in the pillow under his head to hide. The ball that feels like it’s lodged in his throat enlarges when a warm hand touches his back.

“A-Are you sure Sam’s the one…?” Dean’s voice is muffled and breaking. “This Prince guy?”

“Positive,” Castiel replies. “The demons believe that he is destined for evil.”

Dean has troubling swallow, “O-Oh.”

“They think he will be the cause of the fall of Michael.”

“Michael…?” Dean asks, confused.

“I will explain later, you need rest, Dean,” Castiel tells him.

“Can’t sleep,” Dean grumbles, tears once again pooling in his eyes. “Hey, Cas?”

“Yes?”

“C-Could you gimme a moment? Alone?” Dean asks hurriedly.

“Of course…” though he sounds reluctant. “I will return,” Castiel’s says, and then leaves.

Dean lets himself cry once he is certain that Castiel is out of earshot. Choking sobs make his body convulse lightly. His new wings still throb painfully with the small movement. Dean curses them with the little willpower he has left.

He sucks in deep breaths, telling himself he’s being stupid and being a big girl for crying.

“Stop it,” he chides, “Even some girls don’t cry as much as you do.”

Dean wonders if things would have been different, if John had stayed with them that night. A pang of guilt echoes in his hollow-feeling chest.

It was evident that their father didn’t trust his own sons with work. After all, look at how shit things had gotten. Sam was gone. He was now a freaking angel. But was it Dean’s fault? Maybe not. Those demons had caught him by surprise, for sure. Outnumbered, but luckily, not outgunned. Castiel had, for some reason, helped.

Oh yeah, then there was Castiel, another thing John would disapprove of. Here was Dean, carefully toeing the line of homosexuality with another angel. Curious. Testing. Wanting. No matter his species, Castiel was truly beautiful. Damn John and his ‘strictly straight’ ideals.

But deep down, Dean still wants to prove himself. Perhaps it was just the deep-seated instinct of being a good son. There were many inexplicably good things about John Winchester. Intelligence. Determination.

Dean rubs the area under his nose with the back of his hand, snuffling, trying to get his breathing even.

Tomorrow is a new day, he reminded himself. Even if that meant he is suited up with wings. Dean eventually falls asleep, face crusty with dried-up tear tracks.

Hope is slowly blossoming in his chest.

 

*

 

The truck’s engine makes low grumbles as it travels down the secluded road. The road slices through farmlands, billowing dust clouds erupting off of it as the four wheels stir it up. At the side of the road, hidden in the cornfields is Castiel. He lies on his stomach, elbows propping his upper body up. Castiel had left Dean, reluctantly, but following his wishes anyhow.

The older angel understands that inside Dean is still a human.

No matter how much grace the other is slowly coalescing, Dean is vulnerable with warring emotions that weigh heavily on his shoulders. When their eyes meet, Castiel wonders if the ex-human feels the same pull. A lot has changed in such a short period of time for both angels.

Tonight, Castiel felt the extent of how both of them have evolved.

Tonight, the two angelic beings’ grace had reached out for each other, intertwining hesitantly in search of comfort. Castiel is aware of the fact that Dean was most likely oblivious.

Tonight, Dean grew wings and will soon be ready to fly. The charcoal-winged angel wonders if the weight is too much. He finds solace in the detail that he is written into the equation and will always be there to help Dean. Castiel has become very fond of Dean Winchester, his responsibility.

_Castiel?_

A voice nags him in the back of his head, calling him. The reason he had been following the truck abandons his thoughts for a moment while a cold trickle of fears drips down his spine.

_You cannot hide from me, little brother._ A hint of spite leaks into the voice.

Castiel bites his lip, willing away the urge to reply. With bated breath, he waits for the voice to speak further and so he may identify. He has a bad feeling he knows who it is. But it can’t be. Anael herself placed protection charms on him to hide from…

_Cas-ti-el_ , he calls in a singsong voice. _I know you’re there. Let’s talk about_ Dean _and his location._

The black-winged angel shrinks inwards on himself; feeling a cold draft of air graze against his ear as the voice whispers tiny encouragements for him to respond. Castiel startles as an engine noise breaks the sound of voices. The truck ambles closer.

_Not feeling chatty today, are we?_ A quiet chuckle echoes through Castiel’s eardrums.

Castiel folds himself into a crouch, the truck rolls past him and in a sudden spring of motion, he pounces. His bare feet drum against the top metal surface of the trailer. Surprised shouts come from the cabin of the vehicle. The humans know he’s there. Castiel shimmies down the back, grabbing hold of the handle and wrenching it open. He freezes.

_Anael lied. Didn’t she?_ The voice sighs mockingly.

There is an angel on the floor of the trailer, writhing and shaking.

Blood leaks from a hole in his chest- right where his heart would be if he had the same anatomy as humans. Another bullet wound mars his jugular, torn flesh trembling. He clutches at it with one hand, flooded with red. He has trouble breathing. His face soiled with tears and grime, eyes wide and panicked. His wings are in a devastating way. Twisted. Feathers ripped. Bones visible. Everything is broken.

“C-Castiel, is that you?” The angel chokes in Enochian.

Castiel uses his wings to propel himself forward; he kneels and gathers his brother in his arms, cradling him.

“I was ordered,” Castiel’s body shakes. “The host of heaven wants this.”

He focuses his grace, guiding it to his right hand and his angel blade materializes. Castiel plunges it deep into his brother’s chest with an apology on his lips.

“Forgive me,” he whispers as blinding light shines like flashlights from the other angel’s eyes and the feathers of his wings turn to ash. Crusty grey flakes dance into the wind. Castiel feels guilt simmering, almost boiling over.

The voice returns.

_Samandriel was innocent, Castiel. My children tortured him, and then gave him to the humans, who also tortured them. He had the strength of will to survive both. And you have killed him and for what? Do you know why?_

Castiel draws in a deep breath and replies, ‘ _No_.’

_Would you like to know?_

‘ _Yes._ ’

_Give me Dean Winchester._

_‘No, Lucifer, I will never.’_

Castiel is sent flying backwards, out of the trailer of the truck and when he connects harshly with the road, he receives a vision.

It was of Sam Winchester, who smiles.


	9. Sweet Surrender To Sin

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The next morning...

It’s mid-morning. Dean runs his hands through his hair, water dribbling downwards on to his face. His eyes sting, his nose runs a little but…

He’s feeling okay.

Dean stands outside the cave, in the flowing channel of water, which is around waist-height. The cold water bites and nips at him, but it’s refreshing and cleansing. His wings twitch and flinch away from the frigid water. At first, Dean really hated them, just for the fact of being there. Now he loathes them because they’re just so fucking annoying. They’re extremely sensitive, always bristling at every movement and stretching randomly.

Castiel is by the bank of the stream, perching at its edge.

He watches Dean like a hawk.

Dean’s glad that he’s wearing underwear- he doesn’t care that they’re getting drenched- he’s had enough nakedness around Castiel for one whole night. Plus, it’s also doing laundry, cause hey, he has been in the same clothes for the last three months. His nose crinkles at the thought. Under the intense scrutiny, Dean feels himself flush all over, which he hopes the older angel doesn’t notice.

“Cut it out, won’t you?” Dean bursts, spinning around to face Castiel. The flowing water sloshes around him, disturbed. 

“What?” Castiel tilts his head, genuinely confused.

 “Watching me- Cas- it’s creepy,” Dean complains, voice a little rough from earlier.

“You’re in a weak state,” Castiel retorts. “I will not ‘cut it out’.” He uses finger-quotes.

Dean grumbles, scooping water in his hands. He pauses to just look at it for a while. Sees miniscule particles and things swimming chaotically in it.

“You’re eyesight is enhancing,” Castiel had told him when he had come around and almost shit himself at the clarity in which he saw things.

There were no words to describe the beauty he saw in the world, in the forest they were in. He probably was making an idiot out of himself; just staring at things- really mundane things like leaves, rocks- things he never really gave a second thought about when he was a human. It was like someone had adjusted the camera lens and made everything crystal clear.

Dean splashes his face with the water. He dips himself into the stream very slowly, chest heaving as the chills cause his body to go tense. Behind him, his wings go spastic- flapping and complaining. The movement makes him surge forward, toward Castiel.

“Hello,” Castiel says, their noses bump together. The older angel aims his wings toward the front, feathers and bone structure almost playfully knocking Dean away. Dean feels a static jolt run through his veins. His wings jostle about, apparently excited.

“Yeah, hi,” Dean grunts as he tries to tame his wings. He bends around, ignoring his sore muscles, glimpsing at the russet brown feathers. He likes the colour.

Thankfully, it’s not a girly colour.

He would have sawed the damned things off otherwise. At the tips of the wings, the feathers are a caramel brown colour and the colour darkens along with a hint of red, as it gets closer to where the wings connect with his shoulder blades.

“No, move your shoulder, like this,” Castiel demonstrates rolling and then straightening his shoulder. Dean copies the action and ends up falling sideways into the water. He comes up spluttering- water had travelled up his nose and into his mouth- to find a gummy smile on Castiel’s face and a bubbling kind of laugh coming from him.

It’s adorable.

Dean wants to drown himself for thinking it. He holds on to the edge of the bank, hands getting dirtied by the wet earth and grass. The newly made angel is too busy staring at the faint yellow lines that stripe through the grass blades to notice Castiel standing. Castiel brushes off the back of his pants, and then his hands go to the buttons. When Dean looks up, he sees the older angel’s fingers guide the pants zip down. 

“ _Whoa_ , what are you doing?” Dean demands, wading quickly backwards. He lets himself sink further into the water; it laps up against his nipples.

“I am joining you,” Castiel blinks at him, fly undone.

Dean’s mouth feels like it’s been filled with sand. “This is my spot,” Dean says lamely. “Find your own river.”

“I was going to help you with your wings,” Castiel tells him.

“I don’t need help. I’m fine!” His wings take their cue to go a little spastic. Dean sucks in a breath, and they instantly fold in. It’s tight and uncomfortable- like clenching a muscle- Dean supposes he’ll have to become accustomed to the feeling.

“Fine, see?” Dean repeats, voice going slightly squeaky from the strain.

Castiel rolls his eyes, such a particular human gesture he has managed to pick up while in Dean’s company.

“Is there a legitimate problem?”

The green-eyed angel blatantly stares at Castiel. What’s he doing? Why’s he got this nervous energy thrumming through him? It’s not like he hasn’t seen Castiel naked before. It’s not like he’s not been naked around the other angel before. Still…

Dean imagines running his hands over that smooth, tanned skin and- He flushes, thinking about attempting to drown himself in the stream. He feels the heat itch from his neck, blood crawling slowly south. Dean’s shuts down that part of his brain.

_No_ , he thinks, _now’s not the time or place_. He’s got problems to deal with, annoying younger brothers to find, fathers to make proud of. What’d Dad say if he saw him like this?

“Dean?” Not being in arms length distance, Castiel uses his right wing to stretch over and brush the end feathers over Dean’s shoulder to shake him out of his daydream.

“No,” Dean says quickly, trying to keep his voice calm. Goosebumps pop up over his flesh at the feel of Castiel’s plumes. The hunter shakes his head fervently. “No problem.”

“Good,” Castiel pulls his wing back behind him.

“Good,” Dean echoes, scratching the back of his neck. He looks away as Castiel unceremoniously pulls his pants down and leaves them in a rumpled pile at the bank. The older angel slides into the water with as much grace as a swan. Dean feels like a fool for all his carrying on and stumbling. Feels like an ugly duckling.

“I’ve been meaning to ask,” Castiel begins, pointing to Dean’s chest, “where’d you get that?”

Dean looks down, hand coming up to hold the amulet around his neck. Its weight is familiar in his fingers and he feels warmth in his gut as one of the few good memories replays in his mind.

“Oh,” Dean smiles. “Sam gave it to me, for Christmas one year a long time ago.”

His stance deflates a little; remembering last night and how he cried like a baby. He’s glad that Castiel had left him alone to let it all out. Dean had needed some alone time after all; he’d just accepted the fact that apparently his younger brother is Satan’s ‘prince’ whatever that means.

“You and Sam are close,” Castiel observes.

“Yeah,” Dean shrugs. “Especially since the angels…” he trails off. He looks up at Castiel. “Hey.”

The older angel’s wings move methodically through the water. The black feathers, slick with water, hold colours similar to an oil spill. “Yes?”

“Why… Why did you and the other angels come here?” Dean asks hesitantly.

Castiel begins to bathe himself with handfuls of water. He rubs a hand over his mouth and chin, a crease between his brows and his blue eyes narrowed in a pensive expression.

“At first it was Michael, the commander, who initiated the visits,” the black-winged angel’s eyes turn glassy as if he’s reliving the memories.

“Michael the archangel?” Dean asks, trying to keep his eagerness at bay. His mind buzzes.

“He became corrupt, I believe,” Castiel says suddenly, dampening Dean’s enthusiasm. “He is- _was_ \- the Angel of Protection. Leader of God’s army.”

“What happened to him?” Dean asks gently, seeing Castiel’s wings visibly tense and tremble lightly.   
  
Castiel shakes his head. “He grew angry, at our Father, at Lucifer-”

“Lucifer?” Dean cuts in. “What, like, Satan?”

Castiel nods. “Michael and Lucifer are the climax of the Apocalypse. Their fight was to dictate what would happen next.”

“Have they already fought?” Dean asks.

“The whole thing remains mysterious. No one’s heard of much, even those in the highest orders,” Castiel reveals.

“I thought you were a leader?” Dean recalls Castiel’s talking about his garrison, and remembers a time where he had watched the black-winged angel and seeing him lead a group of angels around. Sam had called Castiel ‘Raven’.

“I am,” Castiel confirms.

“Hey, so…” Dean idly manipulates water ripples with his hands “…Why aren’t you with them? Don’t you have to lead them or whatever?”

Surprisingly, a smile curves Castiel’s pink lips. “They believe I am dead. I did not return to them once you entered my life.”

Dean’s eyebrows rise dramatically. “And that’s a good thing?”

“I have never been more free,” Castiel’s wings suddenly flap, bouncy and playful. “Being a leader is hard work.”

“How many angels did you have to lead? A million?” The russet-and-gold winged angel leans inward, curious.

“One hundred,” Castiel corrects.

A thoughtful and somewhat apprehensive silence washes over Dean. One hundred? Dean feels a chill sweep through his body, tickling his spine. He’s left almost gaping in awe at Castiel. The newly made angel can’t quite imagine what it would be like to boss about so many.

“Wow, Cas,” Dean’s voice turns hoarse.

“There’s no need to be afraid. If they find us, I shall deal with them,” Castiel promises, a bright spark lightening his eyes.

“I’m not a sissy, I can handle it,” Dean says quickly, brows coming together into an expression of indignation. Castiel’s lips twitch upwards in a way that to Dean feels pityingly.

Dean bristles. “Hell, I’m an angel now, I can kill anything!”

“Yes, about that,” Castiel’s eyes narrow and his lips form a tight line. “We must train you.”  
“Okay?” Dean asks, tone suspicious. He looks at his fingers; the tips are wrinkly from being in the water for a long while. He makes his way to the bank of the stream.

Dean grunts as he emerges from the water wet body applying no friction against the ground as he slips and slides. Once out, he holds himself close, trembling with cold and Goosebumps forming on every inch of skin.

“If you’re willing, I can introduce you to some trustworthy angels I know,” Castiel says.

“Well, you’re in charge, Cas,” Dean says, voice strained. He’d really not like to meet anymore angels. Then he trips on his heavy-with-water, droopy wings. “Fucking wings!”

With frustration burning deep within his gut, his sore wings extend to the limit. He cries out as he feels pops in his new bone structure. Dean’s sent hurtling forwards, not knowing which limbs were which. He feels his brain inside his skull rattle as his head collides with the rock face that leads upward to the cave.

“Dean!” Castiel’s usual low grumble breaks into an angelic pitch.

Disorientated, Dean vaguely hears the familiar noise ‘whoosh’ of flapping wings and waves of water crashing together. 

“Dean! Are you all right?” Castiel’s voice is laced with concern.

There’s nothing. Dean lets out a shrill noise of surprise. There’s no throbbing ache in his head as Castiel lifts him carefully to his feet. Dean hasn’t even passed out from the sudden impact. Castiel has him pressed against the precipice.

“I…” The words get stuck in Dean’s throat.

Him and Castiel are chest to chest.

Skin wet and clammy from the water droplets they had managed to collect from their swim. Castiel’s eyes are wide. Dean’s lips are parted. Green eyes stare into blue, an intense heat blossoming in Dean’s chest. Along with Dean’s recently developed angel senses and his old human senses, it’s a little overwhelming. He can feel, hear, and touch the flutter of their heartbeats combined. The only boundaries are their skin.

A million thoughts cycle through his mind and he can’t decide what choice to pick, what action to execute.

“Cas,” he begins, a little breathless and he hates himself for it.

Castiel raises his hand slowly and the moment it connects with the side of Dean’s face, the brown-winged angel knows what he wants. Dean wants to lean in, to roll his hips experimentally against Castiel, wants Castiel to peel off the saturated fabric of his underwear, fingers soft but rough and _just touch_ -

“Dean?” Castiel murmurs throatily. It’s much lower than to what Dean’s used to “You’re bleeding.”

He then remembers that he does, shockingly, still have feeling in his legs and makes use of them. Dean pushes off the cliff, sighing at the relief it gives his wings. Dean gingerly touches his hairline.

He looks at his fingers. They’re red, slick, and he instantly recognizes the metallic tang that reaches his nostrils.

He startles- brain miles away- when the older angel draws in closer. Castiel’s lips press softly against Dean’s forehead. Dean feels a burst of Castiel’s grace travel through his body, it causes his eyes to close. The broken skin at his forehead seals over. He feels unbelievably warm, like he’s walked into a room with a heater on.

“Cas,” Dean says no louder than a whisper. He can’t seem to stop saying the name he’s picked out for the older angel. Dean relies on his sense of touch, and his damp hands grip on to where they rest Castiel’s rounded shoulders.

He’s not afraid of the dark when he’s with Castiel.

Anyways, if he opens his eyes now, he knows he’ll chicken out and bail. Dean’s lips find Castiel’s in surprisingly good aim. Heart pumping wildly, Dean lets his body melt with Castiel’s. His limbs go as wobbly as jelly. Their lips caress, soft and rough at the same time, it was like nothing Dean had ever experienced.

It’s a little sloppy and wet, but oh, so hot.

Castiel’s arms pull him forwards. Dean get shivery all over as he feel those fingers- the ones that had touched him so gently before- scrape over his back, digging into flesh and kneading their way up to where his wings connected with his back. There, Castiel’s fingers grab handfuls of Dean’s feathers, causing a sudden burst of heat shakes him to the bones. He thrusts his hips up in quick succession, becoming almost desperate.

“Yes,” Dean murmurs between their joined lips as he feels a fire burning in his lower abdomen.

Castiel moans, a deep guttural noise from deep in his throat. Their arms bump against each other, tangling and then sorting out. The black-winged angel’s hands cup Dean’s face; thumbs press softly where he can feel a quivering pulse. Dean’s hands wrap around Castiel’s protruding hipbones. He tries to reel them forward, eager for friction, but he’s met with some resistance

“C’mon Cas, angel,” Dean encourages, eyes fluttering open. Castiel freezes all of a sudden and his head jerks backwards like he’s woken up from a dream.

“Dean this… is…” Castiel’s pupils dilate; his cheekbones are dusted with pink.

“Awesome?” Dean supplies, panting.

Castiel’s baby blues are rounded with awe and shine with fear. “We’re sinning,” he says in a hushed tone.

“So?” Dean squirms impatiently. “I say: hell yeah,” he closes his eyes again and presses hard kisses to the other angel’s darkened lips. Castiel’s continuing hesitation makes him pull back.   
“What?”

Castiel runs the pad of his thumb over Dean’s bottom lip, forehead creased. “This is new to me. I’ve never felt this, I don’t…”

“You don’t want this?” Dean asks sharply, thinking the worst and shrinking backwards. Castiel tugs him back into his arms, inky wings wrapping to the best of their ability around them.

“I do,” he says quickly, and he gives Dean a quick kiss to further express himself.

Dean grins wolfishly, hands reaching to tug at Castiel’s black feathers. “How much?”

“I want this-” Castiel moans, body rocking forward, “-so badly.”

Castiel’s mouth- teeth nipping lightly- work over Dean’s jaw. Castiel pushes against him with revived vigor. Dean winces as his back chafes against the rocks, his wings twitch with annoyance.  Dean allows Castiel’s lips and tongue to progress down, his toes curl and the soles of his wet feet slide against the grass.

Rolling with it, the two angels sink to the ground.

Dean’s hands travel to thread his fingers through the hair at the back of Castiel’s head. He tugs those wet, wild tresses of hair, egging Castiel on. In a moment of unbalance, Castiel falls flat on his back, head thumping against the ground hard. The dark mass of feathers ripple as they organize themselves out. Castiel blinks, dizzy. Dean lets out a bark of laughter.

“You okay, Cas?”

His laughter is cut short as Castiel rolls, pinning Dean underneath him.

His wings snap outwards, a display of dominance.

Dean’s hardened length pulses, interested. His wings spread out willingly on the ground, involuntarily. Castiel kneels. He grabs the caps of Dean’s knees and pushes them apart. Dean lets out a choked noise, tense with anticipation, his hips hump the air between them. Castiel slots his body in between Dean’s legs, cocks bumping together.

Dean hisses, trapping his bottom lip with his front teeth, he’s so hard- throbbing and aching. Castiel looks at him under hooded eyelids, tongue trailing across his lips. He tilts his head down, mouths at Dean’s nipple, hands hungrily pinching and grabbing at Dean’s torso. Dean drives his pelvis up, crying out, at the unbearable pressure he feels all over him.

“Have me, Cas,” Dean grips on to Castiel’s hands, guiding them to where he wants them. “Take me. Please-”

Then,

“Oh my,” a voice intrudes, “well, this is awkward.”

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The beginnings of a relationship should always have a cockblock, right? XD  
> I apologize for any mistakes in grammar/spelling/etc. Hope you enjoyed ;)


	10. Captain, First Lieutenant, Second Lieutenant

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Last time:
> 
> “Have me, Cas,” Dean grips on to Castiel’s hands, guiding them to where he wants them. “Take me. Please-”  
> Then,  
> “Oh my,” a voice intrudes, “well, this is awkward.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *to the tune of row-row-row-your-boat* If you liked this chapter, don't forget kudos!! (I dont even know what Im talking about. Im tired. School sucks).

There’s a mad scrambling of sorting out whose limbs belong to whom and a mess of wings tangling and smacking against each other. Castiel is snarling angrily in foreign words as flaps over to the edge of the water, grabs his pants and tugs them back on. Dean sits dumfounded on the ground, red staining his cheeks.

He cranes his head around, feeling lost, palming his crotch through the thin material of his underwear. He glares holes into the being that’d interrupted them.

It’s a male angel.

It doesn’t seem like not too long ago, if he had seen an angel, Dean would be either scrounging around for a weapon or staring in awe. But he’s been in Castiel’s company for a long while and he’s slowly getting acclimatized. It doesn’t stop Dean from staring at their intruder’s wings, which are pale yellow-brown and are folded neatly behind him. He’s wiry, with short straw-coloured hair.

He is the first angel Dean has seen who wears human clothes accommodated to suit the wings. He speaks to Castiel in a jovial tone, in angel language. They know each other. Castiel does not look happy. The dark wings bristle with irritation. He jabs a finger into the other angel’s chest, growling low.

“What do you want, Balthazar?” Castiel demands, swapping to English.

“It’s not my fault I caught you having a squeeze and a squirt,” Balthazar throws his hands up. “Besides, I needed to hurry I have a message about the Prince and some news.”

“What message?” Dean pipes up, he stands, cock calmed down.

The other angel barely gives him a glance. Castiel’s head snaps toward him. “Dean. Not now.”

“But-” Dean feels a stab of hurt.

Castiel’s expression hardens. “ _Dean_. Go to the nest.”

“Hey, don’t tell me what to do!” Now it’s Dean’s feathers that stand on end. “Is this something to do with Sam?”

This time Balthazar looks at him. His watery blue eyes rake over Dean’s body, narrow and assessing.

“You’re not an angel,” he frowns. “Not yet anyways.” Balthazar tilts his head at Castiel. “What is this?”

“This is none of your business,” Castiel says brusquely.

“Yes, you’re right, as usual. I’m not even sure if I want to know,” Balthazar sends a concerned look toward Dean, face scrunching with distaste.

“So…” Castiel begins, and then switches to his kind’s language, much to Dean’s frustration.

The younger angel stands there in his underwear, as still as a statue. He brushes away his discomfort, focusing on the other angels’ expressions to gain any indication of what’s going on. Balthazar’s tone and expression fluctuates from deadly serious to unbelievably chipper so much while Castiel is completely monotone, stony-faced.

“…Thank you, Balthazar,” Castiel lets out a long exhale, rubbing at his eyes tiredly.

Balthazar shakes his head. “Well, I couldn’t just twiddle my thumbs once I found out you were alive!”

“Uriel,” Castiel pinches the bridge of his nose, scowling. “I should have known he would…”

“Oh no, quite the contrary,” Balthazar cuts in. “Anael told me herself.” His wings puff up with an air of pride and smugness.

“Anael…” Castiel tilts his head. “No, she would not-”

Balthazar puts a hand on Castiel’s shoulder. “She’s gone missing.”

Castiel’s eyes widen. “Missing?” His voice sounds strained. Dean feels a prickle of concern at the flicker of raw fear that passes over Castiel’s face.

“Who’s Anael?” Dean asks, unable to control his curiosity.

“My superior,” Castiel explains, “Uh, our superior.” He sends a glance to Balthazar. “Have you any leads?”

“No,” Balthazar sighs heavily. “Half of the garrison is looking for her. She went missing last night.”

“Last night,” Castiel’s blue eyes meet Dean’s. Then his head ducks down. Dean squints with suspicion. The older angel is hiding something.

Balthazar continues, unfazed. “Yes, and, a little birdie told me that even _Michael_ is looking for her.”

“How fare the battles?” Castiel questions as he cracks his knuckles in a show of concern. “Has Gabriel shown his face?”

“Well, everything has gone to pot!” Balthazar declares cheerfully, a hint of bitterness in his tone. “And no, of course not, Gabriel is still AWOL.”

“You should return to your station if things aren’t going well,” Castiel straightens. “Thank you for coming.”

“No problems,” Balthazar shrugs, sliding his hands into his pockets. “Oh, I’d try and find something warm to wear if I were you.”

Unconsciously, Dean rubs his forearms, curiosity sparking once again. Angels can feel cold? Castiel’s voice interrupts his thoughts.

“Where would I find-?”

Balthazar lets out a laugh. “You’ve led dozens of raids before, Castiel, I’m sure you can think of something.”

Balthazar turns, as if to leave and Dean finds himself calling out: “Hey.”

Castiel sends him a quick glance. The blonde angel ignores him. He’s too busy chattering in angel language, a chuckle lacing his words.

“I said,” Dean raises his voice, clenching his fists, “hey!”

Balthazar takes an abrupt step towards Dean. “You did. Twice. Good for you.” He pats Dean’s shoulder with a forced smile that’s pitying and sarcastic. Dean flinches at the touch, but is not deterred.

“What was the message about? About the Prince- or Sam- or whatever,” Dean demands.

Balthazar gives him an even wider, simpering grin. “It’s nothing you need to worry your little brain about, you hairless ape.”

Dean grabs a hold on Balthazar’s upper arm. “Listen to me, _you dick_ , tell me what you know about Sam.”

Balthazar looks at Dean’s hand around his bicep and his smile slides off his face, replaced by a repulsed expression. Castiel says something quickly in angelic speech and Balthazar goes to step backward, but Dean’s grip is strong. Balthazar’s eyes widen.

“Dean,” Castiel’s tone is warning and it irks Dean because it makes him feel like a pet- a dog that’s being chided for barking at a stranger. It makes him feel like a child who’s been caught misbehaving.

“Shut up, Cas,” Dean says eventually after a tense moment of silence. He smirks at Balthazar. “Now, where were we?”

“We were up to the part where you,” Balthazar inclines forward, “run along now.”

The hand on Balthazar’s arm tightens- and it shocks Dean more than it does the other angel- when the bones there bend dangerously. If Dean were a human, just armed with his mere touch, it could be compared to a fly trying to beat up an elephant.

“I don’t think so,” Dean says smoothly, “because you’ll be the one who’s going to run once I’m done with you.”

Balthazar lets out an exasperated noise and turns his head around to look at Castiel. “Call off your dog, won’t you? It bites.”

Castiel doesn’t move, except his eye twitches slightly and he crosses his arms over his bare chest. A strange depth in his blue eyes tells Dean that he’s disappointed, a little insulted. Dean ignores the pit of guilt that builds up in his stomach.

“Hey,” Dean shakes Balthazar. “Tell me what you know about Sam Winchester.”

“I’m sure you don’t want to know,” Balthazar drawls. “But there’s been a sighting. Michigan. He’s barely human now.”

Dean feels an ice cold trickle of fear and worry spike his veins. He stares into Balthazar’s face, looking for signs of lying. He sees nothing obvious. But he still says in a small voice, “You’re lying.”

“Am I?” Balthazar’s eyebrow bounces up. “What’s it to you, anyways?”

“None of your business!” Dean hisses. “Now tell me, what’s wrong with him?”

“Everything,” Balthazar replies slowly.

“Care to clarify?” Dean tilts his head.

Balthazar shrugs. “I’d rather not. I’m sure Cassie will be able to update you anyways.”

Dean’s eyes flick over Balthazar’s form to where Castiel stands, waiting and quiet. In his moment of distraction, Balthazar breaks free from him and spins on his heel. Dean goes to step forward but is flung backwards by the force of Balthazar’s wings flicking out to smack him. His shoulder hits against a tree and he lands awkwardly.

“Let’s ditch this obscenity, Castiel!” Balthazar’s voice turns insistent and a little pleading.

From where Dean is, he sees Castiel shakes his head, eyes downcast. “I cannot.”

“The garrison mourns for you, damn it!” Balthazar continues. “Do you know what it’s like offering fake comfort that you died an honorable death?”

Dean slowly shifts into a sitting position, cradling his arm. Balthazar begins to pace backwards and forth. His arms wave about as he shouts in the angel language. Castiel reaches out to his angel friend, but is swatted away.

Balthazar swaps to English. “What do I tell them, Castiel? When I know that you are very much alive and are apparently busy making love to-” he spits at the ground near Dean “-this freak?”

Dean flinches.

“Leave,” Castiel says simply.

“Why stay, Castiel?” Balthazar laughs disbelievingly.

Dean rises to his feet, mostly recovered. He still feels a little lightheaded. Then the words are flying out of his mouth before he can think about it properly: “Cas, you can go.”

Castiel doesn’t look surprised about Dean’s chip in. “I’m not going to.”

“ _Why_?” Dean demands, breathless. “I mean, thank you. You know? For helping me through this and all… but why are you still here, man?”

“Exactly!” Balthazar gestures to Dean wildly. “Yes, Castiel, why are you still here?”

Castiel looks like a cornered animal. He itches the back of his neck, blue eyes darting from Balthazar to Dean.

“It… It’s not of import,” Castiel stammers. His wings flutter nervous-like.

“You should go, Cas,” Dean begins, trying to push down the lump that forms in his throat. “I’ll be okay by myself.”

But really, deep down, Dean knows that he’s even kidding himself with that statement. With every idea that pops up in his mind, it’s battered away and trodden on by common sense. He can’t go back to town, or to the motel the Winchesters had found almost a year ago.

Or at least what had once been a motel before angels and demons roamed the Earth.

Well, demons had been around for years, but it was the angels that made the world extra crispy and shitty. The Winchesters had fixed it up. Let a few trustworthy refugees in. It had been reduced to one-level, but the foundations were strong and it had a great basement.

It was the closest thing to a home Dean had ever experienced.

Most probably, Dean would not make it within a few feet from the township without being attack by its few, but feisty, residents. Not with the permanently strapped wings on him.

He is an angel now, that’s what Castiel told him.

But ‘not yet’ is what Balthazar is saying.

“It sounds like your garrison needs you,” Dean tries to make a point. “I’m sure you have better stuff to do than look after my sorry ass.”

Castiel glares at him. “Don’t be stupid. You need protection.”

Balthazar lets out a laugh. “No kidding there, darling, I-”

Dean can see the moment Castiel’s patience wears thin and snaps. The sooty wings flare upwards with a vicious snap and the angel is an explosion of noise, when he yells, “LEAVE BALTHAZAR!” There’s a rumbling of thunder from up above and Dean can almost taste the crackling of lightning.

“All right, all right!” Balthazar huffs, unfazed by the show of anger that’s left Dean wondering if he’ll be able to find a new pair of underwear somewhere.

The weather calms, as does Castiel.

“Well, you better remember to hurry Cassie. See you later,” Balthazar says before he’s off in the air, a gust of wind coming off of his momentum. Dean watches him disappear in a billow of creamy feathers.

Then it’s Castiel and him, alone in a forest that is God-Knows-Where.

 _Great,_ Dean mentally grumbles to himself.

 

 


	11. A Taste Of Unholiness

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Last time...
> 
> Then it’s Castiel and him, alone in a forest that is God-Knows-Where.  
> Great, Dean mentally grumbles to himself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (Updated 26th November) --> nothing too plot defining. Just extra smuttiness I suppose XD

Dean leans against the tree, hands out in front of him, lacing and unlacing together in nervousness.

He’s at a loss for words. Whenever he attempts eye contact, embarrassment devours him, and his gaze rapidly slides away from Castiel’s too blue eyes. All he sees when he looks into them now is how lust-blown they had been. Bright blue rings around enlarged pupils.

Dean desperately wants to put some clothes on, underwear can only go so far, and besides, they’re waterlogged and partially see-through. It only occurs to him now that he’ll never be able to wear his father’s leather jacket anymore. Not without cutting wing-holes in it. John would skin him alive if he did that.

Dean pushes away thoughts of his father, a gnawing sadness eating him from the inside out. Better not to think about that.

“Say something, Cas,” Dean rasps out after he can’t take the awkward stretch of silence any longer.

“What would you like me to say?” Castiel asks.

“I dunno,” Dean responds. “Anything.”

“Anything,” Cas says softly and it makes the corner of Dean’s lips twitch upwards a little.

“No, I mean about what that was about, we gotta talk, man.” Dean waves to the spot where Balthazar had stood moments before. “You should’ve gone. I’ve looked after myself and Sam for years. I could have coped on my own. Why’d you stay?”

“Isn’t it obvious?” Castiel asks, scowl slowly returning. “I thought I made it clear before when I said that you need to be safe.”

“But, _why_?” Dean demands adamant for a proper answer.

“Dean,” Castiel speaks firmly, expression turning stormy. “You are a child. Stop asking questions, because—“

“What do you mean, stop asking questions?” Dean’s voice rises. “It’s not like I can help it! I have no fucking clue what the fuck is going on most of the time! Don’t you understand that _this_ ,” he gestures wildly between them “is me trusting you. Okay? I don’t know anything about you or angels or whatever. But I, for some reason—God help me—trust you.”

“Well thank you, Dean, for that sentiment,” Castiel says, looking sincere.

“But it’s just—“ Dean goes to continue with his argument. He runs a hand through his hair, “I think I can cope without you. I know I’m just holding you back and I think—“

Castiel’s expression switches to that of frustration, he lets out long-suffering noise, interrupting Dean.

“Do you actually have any idea what happened to you? Do you know why you’re becoming an angel? Why the demons tried to kill you horrifically by speeding up the process? Why the demons have your brother?”

With each question, Castiel takes a step forward until he’s at arms-length with Dean. The younger angel looks down at his feet. He toes the ground, an embarrassed flush coloring his face.

“N-no…” he answers.

“Exactly. This is why you need my help, Dean. Because I am the only who will help you,” Castiel says fiercely.

“You’re right, Cas,” Dean admits softly and refuses to meet the older angel’s eyes

“And also, this is not just about you, Dean,” Castiel says. The brown-winged angel’s green eyes flick up to meet the black-winged angel’s blue ones.

“What?”

“The reason I stayed wasn’t _just_ for you,” Castiel explains. “Yes, I admit, I was told to stay by my superiors. But that is not important to me anymore. I stayed—I _am staying_ ,” his voice stutters “F-for me.” When the older angel says this, he looks like he’s in a trance. He is frozen in a moment with wonder etched into his features.

“Cas?” Dean steps closer to the older angel. “What’d you mean?”

Castiel shakes himself from his inner thoughts. “Nothing,” he places a hand on Dean’s shoulder, hand rubbing against the skin there in a gesture of comfort.

At the touch, his stomach is attacked with butterflies and he thinks of how undignified the older angel had had him, on the ground, begging and writhing for more. Dean feels himself moving forward, closer to Castiel. It feels like he’s being drawn inwards like a moth to a flame.

“We don’t have time for this,” Castiel states, like he knows what is on Dean’s mind.

The younger angel’s lips part, jaw dropping for a beat as hurt and confusion burns through his veins. He feels is wings growing heavy with disappointment, he really should learn to control them. It makes him feel like an open book, something he never remembers being.

Then Dean’s mouth morphs into a small grin as Castiel gently pulls him forward, fingers coiling in the light brown hairs at the back of his head. Castiel’s lips drag along Dean’s jaw, warm, wet and sending jolts of want through Dean. Castiel lets go of him, shifting back and smiling.

“We shall continue later, Dean,” he promises, voice lowering.

Dean makes a noise of complaint, fingers curving in and around Castiel’s belt loops. “Now, Cas,” he whines, words tumbling from his mouth without his brain’s consent, “I wanted you so bad before.”

“Wanted?” Castiel repeats, eyebrow cocking upwards.

“ _Want_ ,” Dean corrects. “I want you,” he pulls Castiel in, tilts his head and tongues the side of the older angel’s throat. He feels a fluttering pulse there, and presses softer kisses against the skin, smiling.

“Dean,” Castiel admonishes. “I thought we were supposed to talk about what events shall proceed in the future—“

Dean cuts him off, firmly pressing his lips against Castiel’s, lingering and hot, tongue probing for entrance. But the older angel is annoyingly stubborn. He grows stiff in Dean’s arms, and not in a good way either.

Eventually, Dean pulls back with an exasperated gasp. “Cas,” he grinds out. “Come on, I don’t want to do this alone.”

For emphasis, Dean slides his hand past the waistband of his underwear and wraps a hand around the hardening cock, which threatens to burst free, there. The pad of his fingertips brush against the head tearing a whine from deep in his throat. 

“Oh, Lord,” Castiel bites into his bottom lip.

Those soul-piercing eyes dart across Dean’s face, scorching blue eclipsed by blown pupils. Castiel drops to his knees, wrenching Dean’s hands away and mouthing the younger angel through thin fabric. Dean’s toes curl; head thrown backwards as a wrecked moan breaks free from his gaping mouth.

“Cas-” he gasps.

He looks down and wonders how the hell he manages not to come already from the sight of Castiel pulling his underwear down with his teeth.

Dean combs his fingers through Castiel’s dark hair, massaging the scalp and tangling in the disheveled knots, egging him on. Then his hands travel over rounded shoulders and to Castiel’s back.

Intertwining his hands in the soft, tiny feathers that join with the flesh there. Dean’s fingers thread through it like carding his hands through hair. Castiel’s wings shudder uncontrollably, arching in all kinds of ways as do Dean’s.

The younger angel hangs on to where the black wings meet with shoulder blades for dear life. Castiel’s lips, mouth, tongue, saliva, teeth explore their way in Dean’s inner thighs, balls and cock. Dean feels like he’s so deep in Castiel’s mouth, he’s practically buried in the other angel’s throat.

He wonders whether or not to thank God for Castiel’s superb suppression of gag reflex.

“Nnnghh- Cas- Sweet Jesus! Fuck!”

Dean falls apart as Castiel sucks him off, turning into an unintelligible mess. If Castiel’s hands weren’t there gripping tightly on his hips, grounding him— strong enough to leave bruises— Dean’s positive his legs would have given out or his wings would have flown him away.

Castiel’s tongue does something wicked and it pushes Dean over the edge and spilling into the older angel’s mouth.

“Shit,” Dean breaths out once his orgasm passes, eyes closed in bliss.

He shivers all over, feeling hot and tingly as Castiel swallows his come. Castiel’s darkened, puckered lips slide off of Dean’s softened penis with an obscene pop. It’s hard for Dean to believe that not long ago, Castiel had been wide-eyed with what seemed like a permanent expression of wonder on his sculptured features.

_“We’re sinning,”_ he had said in a hushed tone, as if someone was there listening in on them. And then Dean gave him a nudge in the right direction. Perhaps he’s corrupting the good soldier that Castiel is, but Dean can’t find it in him to care.

He doesn’t think that Castiel minds either.

Remembering that only one of them have been sated, Dean hauls himself out of this unwinding euphoria by physically shaking himself and opening his eyes.

Castiel still kneels before him, and it’s a sight Dean’s not likely to forget soon. Dean pulls his underwear back on properly. The younger’s angels knees buckle, his sweaty palms rest on the older angel’s shoulders. With as much strength he can muster (honestly, he feels like the marrow has been sucked from his bones after Cas’ blow job) Dean pushes Castiel on to his back.

The blue-eyed angel lets out a deep grunt, his iridescent wings protest by fluttering about.

“Dean-”

Dean hushes Castiel, putting a finger to those perfect lips. “I got you, Cas.”

It makes the other’s Adam’s apple bob as they swallow hard. Dean can see the clear outline of Castiel’s erection straining against the dress pants. Castiel spreads his legs out as Dean settles in between, hands sliding in on his inner thighs.

Licking his lips, Dean leans down and catches the zipper of Castiel’s fly with his front teeth. Revenge for how Castiel had peeled his underwear down with his pearly whites. Throbbing and red, Castiel’s length bursts free along with a relieved gasp.

With those baby blues, Castiel owlishly keeps eye contact with Dean’s green orbs until full lips are pressed against the stiffened cock. Blue eyes roll backwards while green eyes close in concentration. Dean tastes Castiel and it hits him like he’s walked into a brick wall, the intensity of this craving for the blue-eyed angel that he shot from the sky.

_His_ Cas. Burning all over with desire, Dean takes Castiel into his mouth, tongue probing and flicking.

“OH,” Castiel cries out, back arching, wings going crazy. “D-Dean!”

Castiel’s suddenly yanks Dean’s mouth away, fingers rough.

Dean follows where Castiel drags him to, to his lips. His hand stays at Castiel’s cock, wrapping around it. He pumps a rhythm that matches their kissing: hard, rough, and messy.

Castiel comes with Dean’s name on his lips.

Both of them sticky with bodily fluids, decide to peel away from each other. The grass feels refreshingly cool against Dean’s flushed skin. Castiel pulls Dean’s chin up, their mouths meeting again in a clash of lips, tongue and teeth. They tear away from each other eventually, chests heaving and grins plastered on their faces.

“Sated?” Castiel pants.

“Fuck, yeah,” Dean wheezes a little.

“Now are you ready?” Castiel asks.

“For what?” Dean asks dubiously.

Castiel fixed him with an intense stare. “For me to tell you _everything_.”

Dean swallowed, mood souring into uneasiness. “…Yeah,” he nods.  “I guess.”

 

*

 

Dean had wanted Castiel to tell it to him straight, the blue-eyed angel was adamant in them crawling into the nest together.

He never would have picked Castiel to be the cuddling type, with his tough exterior and intimidating wings. Those same wings that would have scared the living daylights out of Dean a few months ago are snugly wrapped around him and he feels so secure that he’s not obliged to move.

Dean stays quiet, knowing that if he tries to hurry Castiel along, it’d only take longer for him to tell him ‘everything’.

Ominous, much?

He feels a lot more comfortable now, cozy in the cover of his ripped jeans. This cuddling thing feels a lot less intimate now with half of his clothes on. Dean’s not sure what he thinks about it all, whatever he and Castiel have. He’s just glad he’s back in clothes again. He even managed to find his socks. It makes him feel a lot more human, this way.

Not butt-naked like the day he shot Castiel from the sky.

“When the demons arrived,” Castiel murmurs so low, Dean strains to hear him even with his new angel hearing. “I had no idea that what they came for was your brother. I thought they were after me. I thought, somehow, they’d found out I was injured and were seizing the opportunity. But then you were dying in my arms,” the older angel snakes his arms around Dean, holding him and making Dean’s face heat up, “and Sam was gone.”

“I wanted to return to my garrison after what had happened, to find out more about why the demons took Sam, but I couldn’t just leave you there… It didn’t matter anyway, because Anael made the decision for me.”

“Anael’s the one Balthazar talked about? Being missing?” Dean questions.

Castiel nods. “She came out of nowhere and gave me orders. She told me you were special and that you were chosen for greatness. That you were a part of the war effort.”

“War effort? What against humans?” Dean tenses.

“No,” Castiel actually laughs, but it’s bitter “against Lucifer.”

Dean blanches. “Then… what’s with the whole destroying humanity thing? Why are angels taking it out on us- on them-?”

“Michael was eager for war. I told you before he pushed us to leave Heaven.”

“Yeah, I remember,” Dean begins to chew his fingernails. “He wanted to have a showdown with the devil, right?”

“Precisely. He planned to cleanse the world of Lucifer and his children,” Castiel gaze drifts away from Dean’s eyes and lands on their torsos that are mostly pressed together. He sighs. “It seemed so simple.”

“Then what made it complicated?”

Castiel looked into Dean’s eyes. “You.”

“Me?” Dean laughs in disbelief.

“Well,” Castiel shrugs with one shoulder. “You and Sam.”

“But we never did anything!” Dean exclaims. “Only minded our own business in surviving. I mean, the first time I ever had anything to do with angels was when they came down and then when they took me-” he breaks off with realization. “So… They _did_ do something to me. T-This?” Dean’s wings shift about.

“I was told about a project that Anael was leading, months ago, and I thought nothing of it. I was busy leading battles against demons. We have had several projects before and I assumed it was just one of the same. I thought: perhaps it included collecting demons and interrogating them. I don’t know.”

“Time went on,” Castiel continues after a shaky intake of breath. “I met you, Sam and your father.”

“You mean we shot you twice and treated you like an animal,” Dean spits out, a pit of self-loathing and guilt suddenly rising up like a geyser.

Castiel actually smiles. “You did not know any better. I forgive you. Besides,” his knee slides between Dean’s denim-clad legs. “I would never have experienced _this_ if it weren’t for that day.”

Dean shuffles closer, arms still trapped between his and Castiel’s chest, he rests his head against his angel. His angel. The thought kind of terrifies him.

They’ve got a weird thing.

Dean had thrown himself into Castiel’s life, sort of became friendly, and protected him from John. Then Castiel repays him for his kindness by caring for him for three months while he was comatose. Never hurt him. Not once. This passion, this tension that crackles between them like electricity is nothing Dean’s ever felt before. Sure, he’s been with countless girls. One or two guys, he admits. Nothing compares to Cas. How could it? Castiel is an angel of the Lord. And Dean is supposedly one of them now.

“Dean,” Castiel whispers to break the former human from his thoughts. A hand threads through the hair on the back of Dean’s head, sending a thrill of pleasure and warmth through him.

“I’m listening, Cas,” Dean says.

“Okay,” Castiel replies. He clears his throat and Dean can hear it rumbling through the angel’s chest. “As I said before, Anael came and gave me orders. Those orders were to protect you and help you through the sickness. I was willing because it was what I had intended to do in the first place.”

“Thanks, by the way,” Dean pipes up.

“It was an honor, Dean,” the hand massages his scalp, mussing the hair. “Anyways, I did ask: why Anael? Why Dean Winchester? Why is he being turned into an angel? Who made him this way?”

“Did she tell you?” Dean perks up, craning his head back to look up at Castiel.

“She told me most things,” Castiel says, looking down at him. “You were made this way by order of Michael. I told you, you were made for the war effort. But… the demons somehow knew of this. Knew what you were to become over time.”

Dean nods. “Then they put their mojo on me and made it happen quicker, right?”

“Yes,” Castiel kisses Dean’s temple, it’s not as intimate or wild as their earlier activities but it makes the younger angel flush. “But you turned out very fine.”

“Thanks,” Dean croaks. “But I think your definition of fine and mine are very different.”

“Most definitely,” Castiel replies. “Um, anyways, she visited you once. About two months after the demon attack.”

“Yeah?”

_A beautiful woman with red hair and round brown eyes kisses him on the forehead and the nightmares disappear._

“I think I remember,” Dean’s eyes narrow in concentration of the wisp of memory that had floated back to him.

“She donated some of her grace to you,” Castiel tells him. “You got a lot better after that.”

“U-huh.”

“But…” Castiel’s expression darkens. “She was upset at your progress. Said your being and your coming grace was dim, not magnificent like what they had wanted it to be.”

“Dim?” Dean glances at the light that surrounds Castiel, especially around the crown of his head. “Don’t I have… like that glow-y thing you have?”

“You do,” Castiel nods earnestly. “Of course. And it is beautiful. A pure light for a pure soul.”

“Oh,” Dean chuckles nervously. “Stop it you,” he jokes, the compliment hitting him in a weird way.

Castiel continues, “But it is not what Anael had been expecting. You’re her creation, Dean, and she was disappointed.”

“Yeah well, that’s me, Dean the Disappointment,” he sighs, thinking about his Dad.

“Don’t ever say that,” the older angel growls low. “Don’t.”

Dean just nods.

Appeased, Castiel resumes his speech, “But she told me to continue looking after you. She had hope that you still could be trained into what Michael wanted you to be.”

“What the hell does that even mean?” Dean demands.  
“I asked her. She wouldn’t tell.”

“Damn it, Cas, you should’ve beaten it out of her or something!” Dean grumbles. “Why’s she gotta be so damn cryptic?”

“She’s my superior. It is her job to be so, I believe,” Castiel frowns thoughtfully.

Then a voice from the entrance of the cave says, “Yes. Unfortunately so.”

Castiel and Dean both shoot up, untangling themselves easily in desperation of getting their shit together. The older angel immediately takes a protective stance in front of the younger angel, black wings shooting up, crouching low, angel blade out. Dean scrambles backwards, kicking at pillows and blankets, mouth agape at the sight of the brilliant angel in front of him.

“Anael,” Castiel relaxes.

“Hello Castiel,” she smiles brightly. Her eyes meet Dean’s. “And Dean. You look well.”

“Uh,” Dean flounders.

But before he can say anything else, the golden aura around her shimmers, turning pale and then strong intermittently. Flickering like a faulty light bulb. Castiel notices it immediately.

“Anael. You’re injured, what-?”

She collapses, Castiel catching her just in time before she tumbled out.

“Well, shit!” Dean exclaims helpfully.

“You think?” Castiel glances back at him with an arched eyebrow.

 

 


	12. The Heir And The Prince

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope y'all enjoy this new chapter!

Days pass uninterrupted by any other unexpected visitors whether it being demons or angels.

Dean wastes away time feeling restless, wanting a change of scenery and wanting to see some progress in the search for Sam. He stretches his wings every day— not flying, God no— as Castiel instructs. Soon Dean learns to bend, extend and retract his russet wings without pain and without being thrown about the place.

Every morning when he wakes up, Castiel is there, running his fingers along the plumes that are different shades of brown. Kneading his fingers along the two-day-old bone structure with jolts of relief and pleasure coursing through Dean. They share kisses, lingering touches, long-lasting glances… It’s killing Dean. He’s not usually the one for prolonged relationships. When his libido amped up, Dean took the one-night-stand ride. He’s not used to adjusting to whatever Castiel is comfortable with. Plus, there are some days where he just wants to ravish the oblivious blue-eyed angel.

Dean holds on to the memory of the one time he’d given the older angel an awesome hand job after a particularly stressful period of time. It was by the stream, in the privacy of a tree. The feel of Castiel’s sweat-dampened warm skin, the sound of his breath hitching and low growls, his back arching as he came and wings lax. A little replay of what the two of them did the day after his wings came.

But Castiel is busy.

Being a driven individual, he has taken it upon himself to look after Anael. Dean feels sorry for Castiel, having to care for a newly made angel and now an eons-old one. The younger angels helps out as much as he can, eager for their most recent visitor to be healthy enough to talk to them.

Dean likes her well enough.

But she has a habit of knocking her snowy grey wings against Castiel’s sooty ones now and again and it sends sparks of jealousy igniting in Dean.

“It’s a gesture angels use to express fondness,” Castiel had explained to placate him. “Anael is my superior and sister. Nothing more.”

Anael doesn’t spend most of her time unconscious, like Dean had, but stares unblinkingly at nothing. The brown-winged angel isn’t sure what is wrong with the dove grey-winged angel. But he’s positive that whatever it is, it isn’t good.

“Hello Michael,” Anael had said to him one evening as he nestled in the den, readying for sleep.

Dean glanced left-and-right, seeing nothing but the walls of their cavern and empty space by the entrance. Her doe brown eyes were focused on him.

“Um,” he faltered, surprised by the fact she called him ‘Michael’ like the big-boss angel he’s heard so much about. Also, Anael doesn’t talk to him much, only responding well to Castiel’s voice whenever he calls her.

Dean replied cautiously with: “Hello,” and pulling a blanket up close to his chin, self-conscious under the sudden scrutiny.

She smiled at him.

Dean hasn’t told Castiel of this encounter yet. It was on the same night that Dean learned about a dead guy named Samandriel. He was on the brink of sleep when he thought he heard Sam’s name in the quiet conversation Castiel and Anael were having. While he eavesdropped, he discovered that the topic of the discussion was some other guy named ‘Samandriel’ not ‘Sam’.

Dean wasn’t sure whether to feel disappointed or relieved.

“You have to tell me,” Castiel had been saying, voice strained. “He was good. Why did you order me to kill him?”

“Why didn’t you just disobey?” Anael snapped in a sharp whisper.

“I was following your orders. You speak in riddles and I don’t understand-” Castiel heaved out a sigh. “It doesn't matter. Samandriel is dead, and he would have died even without me interfering.”

“He was a spy,” Anael had spat out. “Samandriel had sided with Lucifer. Many angels have been swapping sides.”

“What?” Castiel’s voice was laced with disbelief. “Why?”

“Isn’t it obvious?” Anael laughed bitterly. “They chose the winning side.”

Dean felt cold all over. Before he was an angel, Dean had thought it was humanity against angels and demons. But in fact it was Michael and his angels versus Lucifer and his demons. Apparently now the Devil had angel friends on his side. And that was not at all reassuring.

“He can speak to us,” Anael had said. “I-in here…”

Dean wondered what the heck ‘here’ meant. If only he could just turn around and open his eyes. But he couldn’t blow his cover. For some reason, Castiel liked to withhold a lot of information from Dean.

Sure he found out a lot about angels and Michael, Lucifer, the shebang.

But what about Sam?

What about him?

It was enough to drive a perfectly sane person insane. There was a choking wet sob from the other side of the cave, and Dean knew that Anael was having another fit and would be lost to them for a few hours again. Dean curled further in on himself, emotions at war with all this crazy talk that was spouting out of the other angels’ mouths.

Most of the time, Dean wanders around the forest that closes in around their little cave. Each day he becomes more confident in knowing his surroundings. Though where on the map he is, he still has no bloody clue.

One day when the other angels aren’t watching over him, (honestly he’s caught them doing it so many times, they’re like worried parents) Dean finds himself clambering up rocky foundation that sprouts from deep in the Earth. He looks over the edge, toes curled over the lip, heart drumming wildly against his rib cage.

 _This is it_ , he tells himself firmly. _I’m gonna do it. I’m gonna fly._

He’s done this a few times. But like every time, he pulls back, gasping for air.

The back of his eyelids burned and scarred with the memories of being tossed in the air like a baseball. Dean hurries back as fast as his limited legs can take him to Castiel. A deep-seated instinct that wasn’t there when he was human pipes up helpfully that he probably could get to his angel quicker if he just used his wings. If only it were that simple.

Anael spots him first.

Her aura is a dull yellow, like an old light bulb but she actually is ‘with it’ enough to see him. She looks over her shoulder and beckons Castiel over. With a slender finger she points at Dean. Castiel’s wingspan widens and he jumps down with the grace of a cat, a billowing gust caressing Dean as he touches the ground.

“Dean,” Castiel reaches for him, placing a hand over Dean’s clutched trembling ones. “What happened?”

“N-Nothing,” Dean ducks his head down, cheeks flooded with red. He feels his wings relax as Castiel runs his fingers comfortingly over Dean’s knuckles. “It’s nothing.”

“Where were you?” Castiel questions. “You’re shaking…”

“I was only over there by that big tree,” Dean gestures vaguely.

Castiel gives him a blank look. “We are in a forest, Dean, there are a lot of big trees.”

“Shut up,” Dean huffs out, getting a little annoyed. “It’s nothing. I’m fine.”

Castiel gives him a long look; eyes narrow like he doesn’t believe Dean. “I don’t know whether I believe you or not, but, all right,” he says slowly.

When something drips on to Dean’s shoulder, sliding down his back and catching in the area where his wings meet flesh, he would have ignored it. He did ignore it until the smell hits his improved senses and his insides go cold. The air is suddenly filled with the metallic tang of blood.

“Can you smell-?”

Dean trails off as he notices Castiel’s nostrils flaring. He reaches back, flinching when he touches something wet. He pulls his hand away and looks. Blood. Dean and Castiel’s eyes meet. Then something red catches in Castiel’s eyelash, rolling down his cheek like a tear leaving a bloody streak.

He hurriedly wipes it away, blinking.

“What the hell?” Dean murmurs.

There’s a soft groan from up above. They turn their gazes skyward. Anael is sitting just where Castiel had left her, except she’s folded in on herself and blood is running from the corners of her lips.

“Anael!” Castiel exclaims, flying upwards in a rush.

Dean takes the longer journey by walking along the moss-covered path up to the cave. The two older angels are talking to each other in the angel language, and judging by their tone of voice, Dean reckons they’re arguing. About what? He really couldn’t say. The light that clings to her, the golden glow, disappears like someone had abruptly flicked the light switch.

Castiel blanches, shaking his head in disbelief. Dean stands apart, knowing that this was probably it for Anael. He averts his eyes to give the two siblings some privacy.

“Dean,” Castiel calls for him and waves him over. “She wants to speak with you.”

“Me?” Dean points at himself, eyebrows raised.

“Hurry,” Castiel says as the crease between his brows deepens. “Time is of the essence.”

Dean swallows hard before briskly making his way to the female angel on the ground. He kneels beside her with his heart pounding, inexplicably feeling like a little boy. Dean makes sure to avoid touching her large ashen wings. He leans forward, propped up by his hands in front of him.

The strain is obvious on her face, but she smiles as if is nothing is wrong and weakly offers her hand to Dean. He looks to Castiel, who gives him a minute nod, then takes it.

With a voice no louder than a whisper she says, “I’m going to telepathically speak with you. Do I have your permission?”

“Telepathically?” Dean questions. “What, like, a Vulcan mind meld?”

She tilts her head. “Um, whatever helps you understand the concept, I suppose.”

“Sorry,” Dean says awkwardly.

“So am I,” Anael replies cryptically. “D-Do,” she cuts off as she has a coughing fit. Dean holds her hand tighter, eyebrows coming together in genuine concern.

Anael relaxes after a few more seconds then continues, “Do I have your permission?”

“Yeah,” Dean says, confused. “I guess.”

“This may be overwhelming,” she warns.

“Okay,” Dean braces himself, but for what, he’s not entirely sure. “Go for it.”

His world explodes in a display of brilliant white light and he feels like he’s spiraling down on a slippery slide. To where?

_Somewhere all too familiar, but it’s not the place that matters, it’s the angels that crowd in on him. A whimper breaks free from deep in his throat, a snowballing amount of fear building up in his chest. Then he looks up and sees Anael over the heads of the angels._

_I_ _t’s then he realizes that they’re frozen- stuck in time- and they can’t do anything to him. He lets out a sigh of relief._

_“Over here, Dean,” Anael calls to him, looking like her normal self in all her angelic glory. Dean moves toward her, a pins-and-needle sensation crawling all over him, it’s like he can’t feel his own body._

_“Do you remember this?”_

_“All too well,” Dean grumbles, looking around at the scene._

_There a few more details of the place that he hadn’t noticed when he had been there last. Maybe it was because he was too busy being tortured and bullied. A warehouse. How original. Long tables lining the floors in perfect symmetry, mottled grey walls, concrete._

_Oh yeah, he remembers the concrete._

_“This is where you were created,” Anael cuts through his thoughts. “There you are.” She points through him._

_Dean turns around slowly, apprehension squeezing and twisting his guts. On one of the tables, strapped by leather, on his stomach is: himself. He pushes down the nauseous feeling rising up his throat. Dean turns away quickly, looking at Anael._

_“Huh,” he says feigning ease. “Didn’t realize it would look so kinky.”_

_“Looking from a different perspective, what do you notice?” Anael asks, ignoring his comment._

_Dean peeks over his shoulder. “Um, I’ve got my back practically ripped open, if that’s what you mean,” his voice wavers._

_“This is the beginning, Dean,” Anael says. “Prepare yourself.”_

_“For what?”_

_He found out soon enough. He’s sure he jumped about four feet when the other angels, the one whose faces he’ll never forget, start to move and talk amongst each other._

_“What I don't understand is why the human has to be sedated for this,” a female angel complains. Dean feels his bottom lip begin to quiver, fear mingled with anger._ Hestor _._

_“He can’t know what we’ve really done to him until the time comes,” another says, a red-winged male angel. Dean doesn’t remember his name. He only remembers that one coming only a few times. He remembers a sharp backhand that stung his already black-and-blue face._

_“Do you have it?” another, Theo, asks._

_“Yes,” the red-winged angel says. Out of nowhere, he brings out a small glass jar filled with a bluish white light. It moves within in the jar, writhing and rolling._

_“What’s that?” Dean asks._

_“Grace,” Anael replies, appearing beside him. She turns her face toward him. “Michael’s grace.”_

_“Michael?” Dean repeats, suddenly breathless. “The big boss?”_

_“Yes,” Anael says._

_“Why’d he give me grace?” Dean demands._

_Anael draws in a deep breath. “So that you could, in time, turn from a human to an angel.”_

_“Yeah I get that,” Dean snaps._

_“A powerful angel,” Anael continues, undeterred. “As strong as Michael himself.”_

_“So an archangel?” Dean prompts._

_“An archangel,” she nods._

_“Why?” Dean asks, baffled._

_“Michael had been worried. He said that he’d been rash in his decisions. That his mistakes could cost him the war with Lucifer.”_

_Dean frowns. “What kind of mistakes?”_

_“He was the one who let Lucifer free from Hell and let the angels free from Heaven,” Anael tells him._

_“Shit,” Dean gasps. “What a dickhead.” The hurriedly he added, “No offense.”_

_“That’s all right,” she waves it away._

_“So- why’d Michael make him a new archangel?” Dean asks._

_“Michael is the commander of the heavenly host, God’s army, and you were to be the coming of his heir. If anything were to happen to him. You would take his place.”_

_Dean laughs._

_Anael doesn’t smile._

_“Oh. You’re serious,” Dean runs a hand through his hair. “You gotta be kidding me!”_  
  
“Why is it so hard to believe?” Anael asks, sounding exasperated. “Everything that’s ever happened to you fits with it.”

_“Well yeah, but, why me?” Dean asks. “Why someone who was originally human? Why the fuck would a human fight for the angels?”_

_“To fight for the angels, Dean,” she put a hand on his forearm, “is to fight for the humans.”_

_Dean pulls away from her touch. “All right. I can get that. So why’d he choose me, huh? Like individually.”_

_“The ultimate betrayal,” Anael says. “Michael predicted that if your brother were to betray you-”_

_Dean scoffs, “He would never betray me.”_

_Her expression turns soft. “Oh, but he already has.”_

_“Huh?”_

_“Why do you think I’m dying?” Anael’s lips curve into a smile that holds no warmth._

_“Wait-” Dean breaks off, trying to gather his thoughts. “Wait, so,_ Sam _did this to you?”_

_She gestures to herself with a grand wave of her hand. “You can’t physically see it. But he branded me with sigils that are fatal for me.”_

_“Why?” Dean questions with a disbelieving laugh. “Sam’s all pro-angels why would he… How’d he brand you? Or whatever?”_

_“Why? It’s simple. He wanted me dead so that I would not be able to monitor you. How?  He’s powerful.”_

_“How powerful?” Dean tilts his head. “Why is he powerful in the first place?”_

_“You know why he’s powerful,” her big brown eyes stare him down. “You just don’t want to accept it.”_

_“But Sammy-”_

_Anael interrupts him with a firm shake of her head. “He’s not your brother anymore, I am sure. I know he is not human.”_

Like what Balthazar said, _Dean thinks suddenly._ Barely human _. “But…” Dean trails off, lost for words._

_“It doesn’t matter how he’s ended up this way, Dean, none of this is your fault. This plan that’s been playing out perfectly for Lucifer is much bigger than you.”_

_“Okay so, endgame, you die from Sam’s hand,” Dean sighs. “How is that betraying me?”_

_“Well, what am I to you dead?” Anael questions. “In this last few minutes, I’ve given you more information than you’ve found out by yourself-”_

_“I’ve been busy getting used to the fact I’m not even human anymore, so cut me some slack,” Dean grumbles. “Just tell me what Sam’s been doing.”_

_“Okay,” Anael nods. “He does the Devil’s bidding. The Prince is what everyone calls him. Lucifer’s Prince. At first, he was off the radar for a few months. But then an army of demons wiped out most of Michigan, led by your brother.”_

_“Most of Michigan?” Dean breathes out. His heart thumps wildly against his ribcage, threatening to burst free. “Shit…”_

_“Yes,” Anael sighs. “Very much so. Your vengeance was to be the catalyst of your fight with him and ultimately with Lucifer if Michael were to be gone.”_

_“Well I’ve taken the path of revenge and it ain’t a yellow brick road,” Dean laughs bitterly. “It doesn’t matter anymore anyways, right? Because I’m not exactly what you and your Dr. Frankenstein team planned out.”_

_“That’s true,” Anael grimaces. “The demons found out what we had done to you. We were betrayed by angels who craved more power, which they thought Lucifer would provide.”_

_“Obviously,” Dean holds back the urge to roll his eyes. “You guys gotta get around to getting rid of all these Judas’ in your crowd.”_

_“You were made an angel prematurely and are worth less than the lesser angels,” she tells him. Then adds, “No offense.”_

_“None taken,” Dean huffs._

_Abruptly, the floor dissolves away._

_Dean’s flailing through darkness as he shouts out to Anael. The sensation of falling made his brain whirl with dizziness and he squeezed his eyes shut. When the fall ended, he felt no pain from the landing. The first thing he feels is cold._

_Jack Frost taking fucking chomps from every bit of your body, cold. Taking gulps of air, he cracked one eyelid open. Then the other. He’s lying in the middle of a street blanketed by snow._

_“Anael?” He cries out. “What the fuck is going on?”_

_Before he can sit up, a shadow passes over him._

_“You’re the one they call Anael?”_

_“Sam?” Dean gasps. He drinks in the sight of his brother and with every passing second— which seems like hours— the image of little brother Sammy is shattered into a million pieces._

_“Yes.”_

_Dean vaguely hears Anael’s voice and he realizes that he’s reliving Anael’s memory of Sam._

_The ridiculously long fringe that always fell into Sam’s hazel eyes was gone, combed over his crown. His eyes were cold and hollow with not a speck of the puppy dog warmth that used to always be there. Dean feels the back of his eyes itch as tears spring up._

_Sam is gone._

_Most disturbingly of all, Sam is grinning like a Cheshire cat. Blood stains his teeth._

_“I will make you and your kind pay for what you did,” Sam says in a too-calm voice._

_Then Dean hears Anael’s voice as clear as a bell._

_“Go home, Dean.”_

Dean returns to reality, his body slumped over Anael’s corpse and tears freely rolling down his cheeks. He smells something burning; charcoal or ash, then sees that Anael’s brilliant wings have been reduced to crusty cinders. He startles when somebody helps him up, gentle with love, and for one horrible moment Dean thinks that’s Sam.

But then he sees blue eyes, unruly dark hair, and soft, raven wings.

“Dean,” Castiel says, voice rough. “She’s dead.”  
  
Teardrops that were miniscule diamonds formed and caught in his eyelashes, making those baby blues seem luminescent. Dean turned around and gathered the angel in his arms.

“It’s okay, Cas,” Dean soothes. “I’m gonna take care of you. Of this shit we’re in. We’re gonna be fine. Don’t worry.”

He made a promise that day that he was going to stop Sam no matter what, kick his ass and knock some sense into his grapefruit. Then Cas, Sam and Dean would stop Lucifer and Michael and save the world.

 _Yay_ , Dean thought.

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ta-dah. ^_^


	13. A Bad Moon On The Rise

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Last time...
> 
> He made a promise that day that he was going to stop Sam no matter what, kick his ass and knock some sense into his grapefruit. Then Cas, Sam and Dean would stop Lucifer and Michael and save the world.  
> Yay, Dean thought.

“She wanted to be buried in the Earth, not returned to Heaven,” Castiel tells Dean, lithe muscles flexing as he uses a shovel (he flew off and returned almost five seconds afterwards armed with it) to scoop out Anael’s last resting place.

“Why not returned to Heaven?” Dean asks.

Castiel pauses for a moment to draw in a deep, slow breath. “She didn’t want them to know that I’m still alive and she was afraid that Michael might mutilate her body for failing him.”

“Failing him?”

Castiel looks over his shoulder at him, sweat-dampened hair curling against his flushed skin and their eyes meet.

“You,” he says before returning to his work.

It stings Dean deep, a pang of guilt mixed with confusion. His wings flutter nervously behind him as he clears his throat. “Hey, how ‘bout you take a break, Cas? You’ve been at it for a good hour… How deep do you want the…?”

“Six feet,” Castiel replies curtly. “That’s the customary depth, isn’t it?”

He’s barely halfway.

Dean can see the grief settling on Castiel’s shoulders, heavy as a mountain, slowing him down. The ex-human knows that posture all too well. From the bad days his Dad went through whenever he missed his wife too much.

After all, Dean given everything— had fought to the bone, had given up his childhood, the promise of an apple pie life— for grief and heartbreak.

“C’mon, let me help,” Dean insists as he walks around Anael’s dead body, covered in an old sheet.

“No,” Castiel shakes his head, hair falling into his eyes.

Dean comes to the foot of the grave, “Don’t be like that-”

Castiel swivels around, holding the shovel up menacingly, wings rising. “Like what, Dean? My favourite sister, my leader- she just died! And from you brother’s hand, so you say!”

The younger green-eyed angel now regrets relaying all the information that Anael had given to him to the older angel. Dean feels his wings slump down. The bottom row of his light caramel-brown feathers brush against the ground. He still hasn’t gotten a handle on controlling the conveyance of emotion through them. Castiel’s eyes are drawn to Dean’s wings, and the anger deflates from him.

He lowers the shovel.

“Leave me alone, Dean,” Castiel shoulders hunch forward and he goes to turn away.

Dean doesn’t know what came over him, but he jumps into the hole, bare feet sinking into the torn up dirt. Castiel stares at him with wide eyes.

“Like hell,” Dean spits out, a spark of determination alighting within him. He holds out his hand. “Give me that.”

Castiel tilts his head, wings a-flutter with confusion.

Then he passes Dean the shovel. Dean gestures for Castiel to move out of the way, and the blue-eyed angel does so, with a quick swing of his wings. He stands close to Anael’s corpse.

Dean is silent while he works; he feels a little better with the familiarity of digging the dirt. The usual gig of salt-and-burning a vengeful spirit’s bones was something he’d done so many times over the years as a hunter. He hits a few rocks along the way, the ground is not really prime grave placement. Inexplicably, he doesn’t feel tired at all once he’s done.

Perks of being an angel, Dean supposes.

“Thank you,” Castiel says softly once Dean tosses the spade out.

“It’s fine,” Dean replies as he attempts to scramble out of the hole.

Castiel crouches down, reaching down, like a parent would to its petulant child demanding to be carried. The younger angel shakes his head at first but at the fourth try— his wings keep pulling him backwards— he grudgingly allows the older angel to lift him out. Castiel does it with surprising grace with his hands under Dean’s armpits. Dean thinks it’s going all good until Castiel’s fingers gently squeeze a sensitive spot. Dean lets out a squeak, wings thrashing about, and it sends them flying.

“Cas! You fucker!” Dean cries out as Castiel’s grip tightens, his wings freeze up, and the angels hit the ground with a resounding thump.

“S-Stop!” A bout of laughter unwillingly escapes Dean’s mouth.

“Dean I’m not entirely sure what it _is_ I’m doing that’s making you so-” Castiel begins.

“Ca-as!” Dean wiggles uncontrollably, voice strained. “It—” _fucking hell,_ he thinks “—tickles!”

“Oh,” Castiel says, confusion turning into awe.

He lets go of Dean quickly. Dean goes limp, hands resting against Castiel’s chest and making little choked giggling noises. He sighs against Castiel’s skin as the older angel’s arms and wings enclose around him. Even through this cold fear, the nightmares and the death, Dean’s never felt safer than with Castiel. A fleeting thought of _‘tell him’_ passes through Dean’s mind and makes his throat close up. God, he wants to tell him _something_. About how much he means to him.

The three little words?

Maybe not.

But there’s definitely something worth saying, here in his angel’s arms with the figurative storm that threatens to burst over their heads any moment. Dean draws in a deep breath.

“Cas, I really like you,” he blurts out, choosing to look at Castiel’s nipple rather than his face.

Dean first feels the rumbling laugh from deep in Castiel’s chest than hears it. A stab of embarrassment twists in his stomach. He grows red and begins to draw meaningless shapes with the tip of his finger into Castiel’s sternum.

“Sorry never mind-” Dean stammers. “Jesus I’m such a prick.”

“You are a wonder,” Castiel tells him, chin resting atop of Dean’s crown.

Dean’s heartbeat stutters, then attempts to flutter up and out through his throat when their wings press together.

“I am very attached to you too,” Castiel murmurs into Dean’s hair, his warm breath sending tickles jolting down Dean’s neck. “If anything were to happen to you, I just want you to know that even though we are vastly different, I do believe that I…”

Dean feels his heart stop as Castiel pauses, a sudden moment of panic coursing through his veins like a wildfire.

 _No_ , he thinks. _We_ _can’t._

He knows the words that are going to fly out into the open and expose everything. A simmering desire boils in his stomach. But he can’t let Cas do this. He can’t let them get carried away.

This is not about him and Castiel.

This is about the end of the world.

Dean thinks about all the people they’ve lost. No, he can’t allow them both to carry the burden of each other along with everything else.

“Don’t,” Dean cuts in, hands curling into fists.

“But…” Castiel trails off.

“Don’t say it Cas,” Dean pleads.

“What if I never get the chance to say what I want to say to you?” Castiel asks.

The younger angel takes a hold of the older angel’s hand, entwining their fingers, pressing their palms together.

“Cause’ I know what you’d say…and I wanna let you know that…” he looks up into Castiel’s face. “Me too, okay?”

Castiel’s eyes widen and a wide smile takes over his face. Dean mentally takes a picture and stashes it away deep in his mind. Castiel, with the corners of his eyes crinkled, eyes warm and aglow with something akin to the ‘L’ word that Dean’s so afraid of.

“I wish circumstances were different,” Castiel says voice sounding hollow. “It’s a shame that what we have won’t last.”

“Yeah,” Dean sighs, rubbing his eyes with the back of his hand. “I’m sorry.”

Castiel rubs Dean’s back. “I’m sorry too.”

“But make every day count, right?” Dean laughs bitterly.

“To the end,” Castiel says quietly. “I promise.”

 A zing of inexplicable happiness shoots up Dean’s spine and rests his head in the crook of Castiel’s neck.

They lie there in the grass and look up at the sky. It’s slightly obscured by some branches full of vibrant green leaves, but they still can admire the blue heavens and the clouds.

“Werewolf,” Dean murmurs into Castiel’s neck.

The older angel tenses underneath him. “What?”

Dean laughs, then points to the sky. “The cloud. It’s shaped like a werewolf.”

Castiel’s grip loosens comfortably around Dean. “Oh, I see.”

“What do you see?” Dean asks.

“Um,” Castiel falters. Even though Dean’s eyes are on the sky, he knows that Castiel’s eyes are narrowing, squinting with concentration. Then after a long while of silence, “A… sword.”

“What kind of sword?” Dean wiggles suggestively.

Castiel makes a thoughtful sound. “Perhaps a rapier… Or a… Dean, why are you laughing?”

“Nothing,” Dean kisses Castiel on the cheek with such softness and tenderness it shocks himself. He turns his eyes back to the sky.

“Dean…?” Castiel asks, voice hesitant.

Dean hums to let him know he’s listening.

“Do… Do you promise too?”

Even though his question is vague, Dean knows exactly what Castiel is asking.

To promise to walk beside the one who was his enemy, to fight alongside him against legions of demons and angels.

To follow him to the other side, to burn with him, to claw for survival with tooth and nail and to be together until…

Dean squeezes Castiel’s hand. “Heck yeah, I promise.”

"Good," Castiel squeezes back.

After a long silence with a surprisingly warm breeze rustling the life around them, playing with their feather, Castiel jostles Dean out of the beginnings of his nap.

"Cas?" Dean mumbles. 

"I have to bury Anael," Castiel says.

 Then he sits up, making Dean alert, and carefully extracts themselves from each other. Dean's wings flutter, all excited for some reason, sending him hovering off the ground momentarily. He forces them to stop, heart pounding, and drops to the ground. Dean gets to his feet and brushes off his jeans.

"That is very good Dean," Castiel gestures to what Dean had just done. He turns around and heads over to the fresh grave. 

"Yeah," Dean huffs out. "That's about as high as I'm gonna get."

"I shall have to teach you to fly soon," Castiel says, frowning. "You said Anael said to 'go home'."

Dean nods. "Whatever the fuck that means."

They stay silent when Castiel crouches down and gathers his 'older' sister in his arms. His expression stays impassive as his great wings flap slowly. He rises off the ground, then hovers over the dug out hole in the ground. He lowers himself, arms stretched out, placing Anael in the bottom. 

When he flies out, Dean sees liquid gathering in Castiel's baby blues and he totters over to give the angel a hug. Yes, a hug. He may be afraid of love but he ain't one to deny it to someone when they need it. Castiel turns and kisses him on the nose, a butterfly wing light touch. He pulls out of the embrace and takes up the shovel. 

"Well, where is your home?" Castiel asks.

"Um," Dean falters "Never really had one for a while."

Castiel's frown deepens. "How do you mean?"

"We had that place, the town... But it wasn't really home to me. I guess?" Dean runs a hand through his hair. "We never really settled."

"Because of your father, yes?" Castiel prompts, face thoughtful, as he recalls what Dean had told him of his past life as a human. 

"Yeah," Dean says. 

"What about... before, your family became hunters?"

"What, in Lawrence?" Dean questions, eyes widening. "I thought the place got destroyed?"

"Actually," Castiel begins looking contrite. "The angels had used it as a hideout, there were many demons, yes. But we cleansed the place quick enough."

"A hideout?" Dean repeats. "A friggin' clubhouse only for angels?"

"Yes," Castiel shrugs.

"Huh," Dean blinks. "I guess that's not exactly weird. I've heard weirder. Like Michigan being flattened by my little brother."

"Dean, stay on topic," the corners of Castiel's lips twitch upwards. "Perhaps we should go to Lawrence?"

Dean nods. "Can't hurt to try."

A tight ball of excitement and fear lodges itself in his throat. He'll have to learn to fly. He needs to. He can't put it off any longer. Dean wonders what they'll find in Lawrence. More angels? As long as he sticks with Castiel, he'll be fine.  

Dean breathes out shakily. 

He's going home. 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for taking a while- and for the short chapter- but hoped you liked!


	14. Being There With Blue Lips

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Last time...
> 
> “Do… Do you promise too?”  
> Even though his question is vague, Dean knows exactly what Castiel is asking. To promise to walk beside the one who was his enemy, to fight alongside him against legions of demons and angels. To follow him to the other side, to burn with him, to claw for survival with tooth and nail and to be together until…   
> Dean squeezes Castiel’s hand. “Heck yeah, I promise.”

A bitter, bone-chilling breeze enters the nest and makes Dean wake up unpleasantly with a ferocious sneeze. At first he thinks he’s back, reliving Anael’s last memories of Sam. Lying on tarmac, snow biting and blood staining his younger brother’s teeth.

He shoots up; sending loose feathers flying and startling Castiel awake. The older angel mumbles sleepily, rubbing his eyes and yawning. His leg that had been thrown over Dean slowly moves away. If what Dean wasn’t seeing outside in the cave, he would have been admiring Castiel’s sleep mussed hair and hazy blue eyes. But…

“Cas,” Dean puts a cold hand to Castiel’s warm chest. He jostles him. “Cas! Wake up! It’s…”

“Snowing,” Castiel is wide-awake now.

Dean nods, in awe at the winder wonderland outside of the cave. The soft-looking snow has covered every available surface. The stream is frozen. The forest that had been so green yesterday has, overnight, become blanketed and dead looking.

“Good thing or bad thing?” Dean questions, reaching for his socks. They had been balled up and thrown across the small cavern because last night, it had been too hot to wear. Pfft.

“Bad,” Castiel says, voice strained. “Very bad.”

His right blank wing unconsciously stretches out to go around Dean’s back. Their feathers intermingle, sending warmth shooting down between Dean’s legs. He’s learned that wings— touched in the right place —are very sensitive.

Dean sees Castiel shiver so he rubs the older angel’s thigh for both warmth and comfort. “Um, aren’t angels immune to like weather happenings?”

“To an extent,” Castiel replies. “But this… this is different.”

Castiel stills Dean’s hand by putting his own over it. Dean entwines their fingers together, glad even for the slightest bit of warmth. Dean looks at him worriedly. The poor guy looks totally out of it. The blood has been drained from his face to the point where he looks as white as the snow. Dean sneezes.

“Damn, it’s freezing,” Dean sniffles.

Castiel stands up suddenly, dropping Dean’s hand and begins to pace. Dean watches him, unsure of what to do, waiting for a cue. Another breeze makes Dean’s bones rattle with cold. Snowflakes dance their way into their nest. Feeling nostalgic, Dean sticks out his tongue and manages to catch one. The dry nippy flake melts instantly on his tongue. He catches Castiel staring at him and he blushes.

“What?” He demands, defensive.

Castiel puts up his hands in mock-surrender. _Gee_ , Dean thinks, _the more I’m becoming an angel; the more he is becoming a human._

“Nothing,” Castiel says, crouching.

He leans over and kisses Dean firmly on the lips. Dean eagerly kisses back, reveling in the hot touch of Castiel’s tongue probing against his probably blue lips. The younger angel makes a pathetic noise, which he’ll deny till the day he dies when the older angel pulls away.

He heaves out a sigh. “This is very bad Dean.”

“I know!” Dean whines and shuffles closer. “I need more kisses.”

Castiel actually laughs. Obligingly, he pulls Dean in closer, keeping balance in his crouch. The younger angel’s side presses in against Castiel’s chest and crotch. His wings, hanging over Castiel’s thigh, flutter a little.

He sighs happily.

Dean extends his neck as far as he can to make it easer for Castiel to reach his lips. When their lips meet, everything feels as if it drops away and all that seems to matter in Dean’s world is: Cas, Cas, Cas.

“No, Dean,” Castiel says into Dean’s lips. “I meant the fact that it is snowing in the middle of summer is very bad.”

“I gathered,” Dean says, pulling away reluctantly. “So…” he wiggles away a little. “Talk to me.”

“Well,” Castiel lowers himself back on to his behind. With his legs bent, his forearms rest on it while his hands are clutched together. “This could mean two things. There is the bad thing or the even worse thing.”

“What’s the bad thing?” Dean asks.

“Lucifer could be in the area,” Castiel tells him and rubs his shoulder as he feels Dean tense. “I will protect you if he finds us. Don’t worry.”

Dean just nods. “The even worse thing?”

Castiel’s hand on his shoulder freezes, clamping on to Dean tightly. Like he’s afraid Dean will disappear or fly away (yeah, right. he can’t even manage to flap his wings in synchronization yet).

“Cas?” Dean cups Castiel’s face with one hand. “Tell me.”

“Lucifer could have… won. If you catch my meaning,” Castiel tells him looking fearful.

“Won? Against Michael?” Dean clarifies.

Castiel nods. “Yes. And if so… that would mean you would be the next target.”

Dean all but shrieks, “What!?"

His brain goes slightly into shock and he begins to babble, “Me? But I’m just some failure of a whacky angel experiment. Why would he want to hunt me? I can’t mean anything! I can’t even fucking fly I’m so shit-scared of heights and I’m useless. I haven’t hunted in a while so my skills are rusty. Fuck! Fuck-fuck-fuck-fuck! What are we gonna do-?” Dean breaks off feeling helpless.

Castiel shifts, now sitting in a cross-legged position. “We have to stay calm about this.”

Dean wants to scream ‘How?’ But he knows Castiel is right. Losing their heads would only just increase the chance of getting caught and killed. He wrings his hands together and nods.

“Look at me, Dean,” Castiel uses a finger to lift Dean’s face.

Dean focuses on Castiel’s blue eyes. Those azure baby blues that he loves so fucking much. A trickle of calm works its way into Dean.

“We are going to get through this,” Castiel tells him looking intently into Dean’s wide green eyes. “And we have to bring the fight to Lucifer.”

“There’s only us, Cas,” Dean points out.

Castiel shakes his head. “I can recruit the masses. What we need to focus on is _you_. All right?”

“Me,” Dean nods. “Okay.”

“First we are going to go to Lawrence to see if there’s anything there,” Castiel tells him. “I have a feeling it’ll help us with the next step.”

“Which is?” Dean asks.

“Training you,” Castiel says. “We will get you fit again and I’ll teach you how to use an angel blade artfully and purposefully. Fighting with wings may be a challenge for you but it’s something we have to do if we want to survive.”

“Right,” Dean says. “After that?”

Castiel looks away. “I don’t know.”

“Hey,” Dean kisses Castiel hard on the cheek to gain his attention. “It’s fine. We’ll cross that bridge when we come to it, yeah?”

“Yeah,” Castiel smiles a little.

“Okay so, flying lessons today?” Dean asks, feeling a little sick with dread.

 

*

 

“I don't think I feel entirely comfortable with you behind me like that,” Dean says, feeling jittery with nerves.

Castiel had led Dean up on top of the cliff, where their nest was carved into its rock face and told him to stand on the edge. And here he was now, refusing to look down. Castiel’s chest is flush with Dean’s back; it’s not as uncomfortable as he thought it would be, with his wing joints poking out and such. Castiel took a hold of Dean’s wings, forcefully opening them to their extent. Dean held them there, his back straining a little. He begins to shiver with anticipation.

“I don’t like this,” Dean tells Castiel for the umpteenth time.

“You didn’t say that last night,” Castiel murmurs into his ear.

A shocked laugh escapes Dean’s mouth followed by some spluttering. “Cas! Jesus- we never even-”

“I know,” Castiel says. “I wanted to relax you.”

“Oh,” Dean says with a blink. “What for?”

“For this!” Castiel finishes with a shout as the ground disappears from under Dean’s feet like a rug being pulled out from under him.

“MOTHERFUCKER! CAS! SON OF A-!”

It’s worse than a rollercoaster, because at least then, you can see where the tracks will lead you. Plummeting towards the ground, Dean screams himself hoarse.

“STOP! _STOP!_ CAS PLEASE-PLEASE-PLEASE! Oh-holy-mother-SHIT!”

He’s tempted to close his eyes.

With the grip he has on Castiel’s hands, which are on his sides, he’s sure he’s probably broken a few of his fingers. When they look like they’re four feet off the ground, Castiel pulls up, both their wings, snapping backwards. Then they’re up and off again, spiraling upwards and crashing through branches. Snow flicks Dean in the face.

“OH GOD! CAS! I HATE YOU SO MUCH! I HATE YOU! PUT ME DOWN! FUCKING PUT ME DOWN CAS!”

And finally, Castiel does just that.

In a fucking tree.

Dean clings to the thick branch, wrapping his limbs around it gasping for air. He doesn’t care that he looks like a damn cat stuck up a tree. Not at all. Unwillingly, hot and angry tears spring free from his eyes mixed with relief that he’s not dead. He buries his face in the crook of his elbow.

Dean hears the steady beat of Castiel’s wings and he peeks an eye open. Dean sees Castiel in mid-air, hovering, looking at him with what looks like not an ounce of regret.

“I hate you Cas,” Dean spits out vehemently. “I hate you.”

“Your wings are strong,” Castiel glides through the air to Dean. He perches on the branch, the whole tree shaking, and causing Dean to compress himself into the timber even harder.

“I’m gonna fall Cas!” Dean gasps out, squeezing his eyes shut. “M’ gonna f-fall.”

“I won’t let you,” Castiel tells him firmly.

His hands rub up and down Dean’s back, reminding the younger angel of when he first got his wings. Cas had been there then, and he was here now. Dean slowly let himself relax. He exhales. Dean feels the tree wobble again, but it’s okay, because Castiel is there. He pulls at Dean’s shoulder.

“Come on,” he urges “again.”

Gathering every speck of strength and will, Dean slowly pulls himself to his feet. He still has trouble look down at the ground. Castiel guides Dean, hand on his forearm and then he starts to count down.

Then they both step off the reliable solidity of the tree branch.

 

*

 

“I do believe we’ve had enough diving lessons,” Castiel says as he takes in Dean’s green complexion.

The ex-human has never had a more stressful day in his life. Sure, he’s been through tough days of fighting monsters and surviving the apocalypse… But facing one of his greatest fears for more than a few seconds? Dean threads his hands through his short hair, trying to ease the dizziness. Castiel stands beside him. Dean looks up at him from his position on the ground. He’d really rather stay there.

“Ready to attempt hovering?” Castiel questions.

Dean swallows hard.

Then nods, not trusting to open his mouth to speak in case he pukes everywhere. He was just glad Castiel was here to teach him the ways of the ~~Jedi~~  angels. There was no time to be a bitch about it all. It sure as hell was great to have someone like Cas around. The angel was born to tell gravity to go screw itself.

The guy was a pro at this flying business from what Dean had noticed while he wasn’t busy doing either: a) screaming his head off b) crashing into something. Let’s just say that Dean now feels for George of the Jungle.

Trees are solid bastards.

“Stand up,” Castiel orders.

Dean obeys, knees quaking. Castiel holds both his hands as if to give Dean a double high-five.

“Take my hands,” Castiel tells him. Dean slowly laces their fingers together in both hands, their palms pressing together. Castiel nods approvingly.

“Now go through the exercises we went through before,” Castiel tells him as his great black wings begin to move. “The extend, flap. Extend. Flap. Extend… Yes, that’s very good, Dean.”

Dean grimaces a little with the exertion but holds Castiel’s hands in an iron grip of determination. Slowly they lift off of the ground. Dean laughs, nervous.

“Good,” Castiel coos. “You’re doing very well.”

It reminds him of when Sam had managed to convince Dad to buy them roller-skates.

Dean had gotten the hang of it pretty quickly but Sam— being the little uncoordinated midget he was back in the day— needed a hand with it. With his younger brother’s bony knees wobbling, Dean held both his hands and guided him along the bumpy tarmac. Dean spaces out as he gets caught up in the memory.

It’s not until his wings smack against a leafless branch, cold snow sliding down his feathers that he snaps back to reality. _Don't look down. Don’t look down. Don’t look— oh, fuck._ Dean’s knuckles turn white.

“Dean,” Castiel warns, “You have to relax your body.”

“I can’t!” Dean growls through clenched teeth, frustrated.

Castiel sighs. “I know you’re used to your human body and that is completely fine. But your wings are apart of you now. Work with them, not against, and try to think of them like you would your heart.”

“My heart?” Dean frowns.

“Your heart works without you thinking about, doesn’t it?” But before Dean could reply, Castiel begins reels Dean in.

“What are you—?”

Even though Dean has attached himself to Castiel in a viselike grip, the older and stronger angel easily persuades the younger angel’s fingers to loosen enough to let go. Dean makes a noise, hand grabbing uselessly at the air, altitude dipping. Castiel’s arm wraps around Dean’s waist. The russet winged angel holds on to Castiel’s shoulders with both hands. Castiel sneaks one hand between them, placing it over Dean’s heart.

“Focus,” Castiel tells him gently. “Close your eyes.”

“But—” Dean pouts.

“Dean,” Castiel says firmly.

Dean heaves out a sigh before obeying.

The world slowly bit by bit melts away and all that remains is the beat of his heart. Like Castiel said, Dean focuses on the touch of calloused fingers, the rhythm pulsing consistently against it. The strong arm around him loosens but he hardly notices. Because they are so close, Dean can faintly feel Castiel’s heartbeat. The beats of his wings match each soft thuds of his heart. The younger angel’s wings hesitate…

“FUCK!” Dean drops out of the sky, dragging Castiel with him.

“DEAN!” Castiel gasps, wings entangling with Dean’s grappling arms.

They hit the ground, snow cushioning their fall. Dean’s wings stir up the fluffy, dry snow as he wiggles about. Castiel rolls off of him, breathing hard, skin shiny with melted snow. Dean wipes snow off his face and sits up with a deep chuckle.

“Okay that went awesomely,” Dean says sheepishly. His wings shake out the snow caught in his brown feathers. Castiel’s raven wings do the same.

Dean brushes some snow out of Castiel’s soft dark hair. “Sorry buddy.”

“I apologize too, I did not mean for us to fall,” Castiel leans into Dean’s touch.

“Not as graceful as you though you were, huh?” Dean teases. Then he looks over Castiel’s shoulder, eye caught by some movement. A pair of eyes peers out from behind a snow blanketed bush. Dean shivers from both surprise and cold.

“Cas,” Dean says, voice hushed. “There’s a person over there.”

Castiel spins around, already on his feet with his angel blade materializing in his hand. Dean shouts in surprise, falling flat on his back, then rolling on to all fours and staggering up.

“Come out!” Castiel barks.

“Cas! Jesus! Wait a second, why don’t you?” Dean shouts over him. Dean holds on to Castiel’s forearm to keep him from pouncing. He looks to the person and tries to make his wings as small as possible not to frighten them off. “Are you all right?”

“Y-Yes,” the person, a woman squeaks.

“Who are you?” Dean questions.

The woman suddenly reveals herself. She wears a white parka and tracksuit pants, contrasting her dark curls.

“Well,” her eyes abruptly flick to black, and with a smirk she replies, “your worst nightmare, angel.”

 

 

 


	15. The End of The Reign of The Righteous

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Last time...
> 
> “Who are you?” Dean questions.  
> The woman suddenly reveals herself. She wears a white parka and tracksuit pants, contrasting her dark curls.  
> “Well,” her eyes abruptly flick to black, and with a smirk she replies, “your worst nightmare, angel.”

As the demon’s eyes fill with black, four more figures emerge from the cover of the forest and Dean and Castiel are surrounded. Dean swears, wings a-flutter, stirring up loose snow. He wets his lips as he assesses their situation. Outnumbered. No clear exit points except upwards. In front of him, Castiel goes rigid. Dean looks closer at their opponents and feels himself grow colder, even with all the snow underfoot. Three of the seven have wings. They’re angels.

“Uriel?” Castiel gasps. 

“Hi Castiel,” says one of angels.

Dean frowns, stepping forward to be beside Castiel. The name ‘Uriel’ does sound familiar. Castiel’s right hand man or something from what he can recall. He feels a twist of sympathy and anger in his gut for the clear betrayal on Castiel’s face.

“How could you?” Castiel’s voice shakes.

Uriel shrugs. “Just choosing the right side here, Castiel. Lucifer is strong,” awe takes over his voice, “is beautiful.”

“Lucifer is wrong! Fallen,” Castiel hisses.

“No,” Uriel shakes his head. “Far from it. He is our leader, Castiel. Our new God.”

“Don’t you dare—” Castiel raises his angel blade.

Uriel interrupts, “He has conquered Michael. That war mongering, greedy, insolent brat is dead. And this,” he gestures around him, “is the message of beginning of his reign.”

Castiel and Dean share a look. So Castiel was right, the snow did mean something: Lucifer had won. The apocalypse had reached its climax in favor of evil. Fear brewed like a heavy rain cloud over Dean. Castiel seemed to share this sentiment, as his hand suddenly clasped Dean’s tight.

They were both thinking the same thing: Dean was next on the hit list.

“What’s this?” Uriel tilts his head at the handholding.

His dark eyes lock on to Dean with a hint of a smirk. Castiel’s hand tightens to the point Dean is sure his bones are creaking with protest.

“Who are you brother? I don’t recognize you,” Uriel direct at Dean.

Uriel’s mahogany-brown wings lift as they perk up with interest. Dean’s lighter brown wings extend into what he hopes is an intimidating stance. It seems to work as the other angel’s eyes grow round as curious fear controls their expression.

“Don’t pretend you don’t know,” Castiel says. “He’s the reason you’re here, isn’t it?”

“Ah,” Uriel laughs. “You always were the bright one, Castiel.”

One of the demons suddenly jumps from its spot, surprising both Dean and Castiel. Tendrils of black smoke snake out of its fingers and it manipulates it, using it as a whip. It smacks around Dean’s ankle with such force it knocks him off his feet. It feels like poison, infecting him and causing his whole body to ache.

Castiel had let go of his hand when he fell over. The black-winged angel flies forward, blade aiming true and plunging into the demon’s chest. Dean is released, he breathes out with relief. Then his heart clenches fearfully. 

“CAS! Behind you!” Dean shouts a warning.

Without looking behind him, Castiel yanks his blade from the demon and shoves it behind him into another demon. Dean watches on in shock as he sees both of the demons explode in light and crumple to the ground.  He hadn’t seen a demon die since his father had disposed of the crossroads one a long time ago.

Hands grab at him from behind, digging into his wings painfully. Twisting with a shout and a roundhouse kick, of which Sam would be proud of, the angel that had tried to grab him was knocked forcefully away. It’s back connects with a tree with a loud snap. Dean points, excited.

“Did you see that, Cas? I got him!”

“Some help would be nice, Dean!” Castiel yells at him.

“Oh, right.”

For a long while it feels like nothing that Dean does actually makes a dent in the five creatures that still have them by the short and curlies. Castiel takes down an angel, the familiar smell of ash wafted over to Dean and he saw it distract the other angel he was taking on. He sent a swift kick to the male angel’s groin, half-wincing and half-laughing. As he recovers, Uriel suddenly slams into Dean, forcing him on to his stomach.

“You are not worthy,” Uriel tells him, voice as slick as slime. His fingers run along Dean’s struggling wings, nails biting at the bone structure.

“Get off me you asshole!” Dean cries out.

“You don’t deserve these wings made by the grace of an archangel,” Uriel says.

Dean scoffs, “Why? You jealous?”

“I shall rip them from your body and return them to our leader.”  
  
“CAS!” Dean shouts for help, even though he hates to seem like a wimp, this Uriel guy was nuts.  
  
He reminds Dean of Hestor back in the day when he had been kidnapped: all mission-orientated and generally insane. Angels, man. Dean kind of hates being one of them, even though he’s had great experience with Castiel and a nice time with Anael when she was alive. But it seems that there aren’t a lot of angels like Castiel and Anael. Dean likes to consider himself as one of them.  
  
One of the different ones. Hell, he’s mostly just human. That’s gotta count for something, right?

“Dean!”

He hears Castiel and his heartbeat skips with hope. Then Dean’s face is forced into the snow, held down by the neck but struggling with every last bit of strength. But Uriel was too strong. He hears Castiel yell out in pain, a low growl followed by a choked whimper. Dean’s hands beat against Uriel awkwardly from his position.  
  
He _needs_ to help Cas. He owes the guy that much for saving his life for what seems like dozens of times.   
  
But then his left wing receives a sharp tug and his vision goes white. His veins are suddenly assaulted with something even wintrier than the ground beneath him. Dean fills with relief as the pressure on his wings releases and his vision slowly returns. Gulping in the frigid air, he takes in his bearings.  
  
Not too far away from him is a smoldering crisp of a figure that used to be Uriel.

Dean’s mouth goes dry.

“Little birdy, little birdy can’t fly away?” Croons a woman’s voice, babyish in a cruel way.

It’s not long till Dean sees Castiel cornered by an angel and a demon. The demon is the girl who Dean had spotted first. She runs her fingers through Castiel’s hair.

 _His_ Castiel’s hair.

Something deep inside him cracks open and before he can filter it through his brain, he’s on his feet and charging toward the demon bitch. Dean tackles her to the ground. Vaguely, he hears Castiel and the other angel fighting each other. Dean is taken over by some feral force.

He claws at the demon like an angry bird finding an intruder in its nest, nails gouging and gashing deep into her possessed flesh. Dean’s ears ring as his angel voice rises from within his core and screams with anger, with possession, with fear and with love for his angel.

“Dean!”

Dean needs to save Cas. He needs to save Cas. Castiel is his and he needs to protect—

“ _Dean!_ Stop! She’s dead!”

The world returns to him in a rush of senses: the cold weather that dries out his lips and makes his eyelids crusty and his feet on the verge of frostbite. Red. Blood like cherry syrup on his hands and splattered on the ground around him, contrasting against the white snow.

The stench of dead meat fills his nostrils and with a jolt he realizes that he’s _sitting_ on said dead-meat-stench.

“Cas?” Dean asks, trembling all over as he scoots away.

“It’s okay Dean,” Castiel is already there, holding him in a surprisingly warm embrace. The younger angel buries himself as far as he can into the older angel. Black wings cover over russet-brown wings.

“What was that?” Dean asks. “I don’t even know what came over me…”

“It is fine, Dean. You don’t have to worry. It is not your fault. It is the angel grace essence within you. When you saw me, it’s very raw and natural side kicked in. Instinct, if you will.”

“I went coo-coo,” Dean deadpans.

“Only because we are—” Castiel suddenly stops and Dean feels the angel against him flush. He pulls away slightly and looks into the deep red face of his angel.

“What is it?” Dean asks, a little amused.

“Because… Because-we-are-soul-bonded,” Castiel says in a rush.

“Soul what now?”  
  
“Never mind,” Castiel says hurriedly. Then he gets to his feet, pulling Dean up with him. “We have to leave for Lawrence. Now.”

“Now?” Dean raises an eyebrow, trying to keep up.

“Yes,” Castiel says, angel blade magically disappearing.

He’s gotta learn how to do that one day, Dean thinks with a sigh.

Then without warning Castiel takes off into the sky, Dean in his arms. As their altitude rises, Castiel slowly releases Dean and the younger angel replays their lessons in his head. He’s only connected to Castiel by just their hands now. Dean focuses in front him, the endless sky, instead of the ground that shrinks and slowly disappears as they go higher.

“Ride the wind, Dean,” Castiel shouts over the blustering current. His wings are open to the extent; beautiful black curtains are one with the wind, cutting through air with ease.

Dean copies Castiel, spreading his wings as far as he can, and flies.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Love to hear from you lovely readers :) don't forget to kudos! the next chapter will be coming soon.


	16. I Can't Live If Living Is Without You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Last time...
> 
> “Ride the wind, Dean,” Castiel shouts over the blustering current. His wings are open to the extent; beautiful black curtains are one with the wind, cutting through air with ease.  
> Dean copies Castiel, spreading his wings as far as he can, and flies.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> When I began this fic, I thought, "Wouldn't it be great to reach at least 100 kudos'?"  
> TODAY IS THAT DAY!  
> Thank you for the kudos, everybody. I hope the following chapters (I'm thinking 5 or 6 more) will be enjoyable!

It’s so fucking cold.

They’d left everything but their clothes on their backs— no, not even that— they were both shirtless. They’ve travelled well into the night, guided by the light of the moon and the stars, staying well above the snow clouds. Dean head pounds with a dizzying ache. But he dutifully ignores the pain and follows Castiel through the dark. By the time it is early morning, it is no less colder. Dean crosses his arms tightly around himself, fighting the urge to also use his wings to warm up. If he did that he would drop like a stone.

Which would suck. Epically.

Castiel is the same as him, curling up as much as possible. He even has his legs tucked like a real bird. The only upside of this situation is that Dean can now fly by himself and that they’re a few steps closer for the search for Sam. Finally.

Of course, now, Dean is dreading it. He kind of wishes that Sam had been dead, which had once been one of his worse fears but that was before his big little brother turned out to have demonic evil powers and Satan’s henchmen.He wonders if there even is a sliver of Sam left in there. He hopes so.

That’s all he really has nowadays. Hope.

And Cas, of course. Dean wouldn’t be alive if it weren’t for his grumpy, almost always disgruntled, guardian angel.

“C-Cas,” Dean’s teeth chatter. “Can we stop?”

“No,” Castiel’s voice is rougher than usual, throat parched from the blistering winds. The blue-eyed angel pumps his black-as-night wings even harder. Dean glares at Castiel’s back as he quickly falls behind. He hasn’t gotten then knack of acceleration yet.

“But we’ve been up here for hours!” Dean says breathlessly, finally catching up to Castiel. Or did Castiel slow down for him?

“Only twelve,” Castiel informs him.

Dean’s bones take their cue to ache twice as much as the news hits him. He prays that his wings won’t cramp up…. Oh yeah, God doesn’t care. He banks a little to the left, away from Castiel, as his right wings starts to spasm. 

“Please, Cas,” Dean eventually begs. “I don’t think I can last any longer.”

Castiel tears his arm away from his torso, his movements shaky from cold and holds a frozen hand out to Dean. The blue-eyed angel doesn’t even bat an eyelid at the fact that Dean’s hands are stained with blood. Demon blood. The younger angel gratefully latches on and their fingers mold together, as cold and hard as marble. He wasn’t one for handholding until Castiel.

Perhaps the whole if he falls then gravity will do its thing and he will die suppresses the yuck factor of it.

It feels like forever until Castiel says, “Let’s rest for the night down there.”

Dean moans with relief and Castiel’s lips twitch upwards, blue eyes finding green with fondness in those baby blue pools. Castiel leads Dean and slowly they spiral downwards. They approach American suburbia with inevitable evidence of the apocalypse through the once green lawns and white picket fences. The houses reduced to rubble, the festering corpses on the roads, the gone-feral dogs are something that Dean’s used to seeing these days.

In another life, he wonders if he ever could have lived in what this place used to be. The apple pie life has never seemed so far away as it did to him as he flew ever closer to the remains.

“There,” Castiel points to a house that miraculously seems to be in one piece. It’s one storey with blackened walls and smashed windows but it’s one of the best houses Dean’s seen from a suburb lately.

Castiel lets go of Dean’s hand and retracts his wings so that they are adjacent with his back. Dean attempts to copy the action and holds in a whimper as he naturally begins to make a descent. He knows he can’t close his eyes for this. The world seems to spin beneath him.

 _Focus, Winchester_ Dean snaps at himself mentally. _Pull yourself together and deal with it._

Castiel’s wings snap outwards as do his legs and gracefully land on both feet on the gutter of the house. His feet sink a little into the leaf and snow litter there. Castiel cranes his neck back and looks expectantly up at Dean. He flaps one wing as if to beckon Dean over. Dean gulps.

“Okay, you can do this,” he tells himself as he opens up his brown speckled wings. “It’s as easy as pie—SHIT!”

Dean feels the air punch out of his lungs as his torso collides with the gutter.

Castiel flutters up, startled, eyes round.

The younger angel scrambles about wildly, fingernails scraping uselessly at the snow on the roof and legs flailing. He tenses all over and manages to hold on, swearing like a trooper as he does so. Castiel hurries over, still airborne and offers him a hand. Heart pounding, Dean gingerly releases one hand and reaches for Castiel.

Then the gutter conveniently decides to break. Dean plummets to the ground, Castiel yelps out his name and a hand swipes forward. It catches on Dean’s foot and he’s brought to a halt, head inches away from the dead garden bed below him.

“Oh God,” Dean groans, feeling the blood rush to his head. “Damn it! Let me down Cas.”

“Of course,” Castiel replies as he gently lowers Dean to the ground. As soon as half of his body connects with the solid ground, his muscles go limp with relief mingled with exhaustion.

“Are you all right?” Castiel questions. The older angel crouches beside him, eyes assessing and hands wandering over his body.

Dean waves a hand in reply.

 

*

 

“Holy crap. This house ain’t that half bad!” Dean exclaims as he wanders in, fingers trailing along the wall as memories pour back into him.

He can’t help but feel small, if not claustrophobic, by the house.  But the place could have been a five star hotel for all he cared; it was clean, dry, insulated properly and didn’t smell like dead people. He gave it an A plus. The front door had led him directly to the lounge room, which separated by a long breakfast bench had a large kitchen and not far from it: a beautiful mahogany dining table with designs carved into it that surely had caused its carpenter some strife. There was an entryway in the living room that led to a hallway, which probably had doorways to a bathroom, bedrooms etc.

Dean was eager to make himself at home.

“We’re only here for the night, Dean,” Castiel suddenly reminds him and Dean wonders for the hundredth time if angels can read each other’s minds. Dean mentally gives Castiel the rude finger but the blue-eyed angel doesn’t react so considers that his hypothesis isn’t plausible.

“Yeah I know,” Dean settles into the couch, limbs rubbing against the soft fabric and the spongy stuffing. His eyes threatened to roll back into his head with the sheer pleasure of it. He lets out a long, content sigh and has plans to hit the hay right there and then.

But Castiel has other plans.

Dean’s heavy eyelids were closing when an Earth shattering crash rattled him awake. He’s on his feet and investigating before anyone had the time to ask: ‘what the hell?’ On the way, he steps on something hard and starts to sing a nursery rhyme.

He does not let out a shriek.

Nor does he smash the bright yellow smiling bus into little pieces. It was obvious that whoever had lived there had kids just like it was obvious that Dean suffered a little from paranoia.

“What are you doing?” Castiel asks, appearing at the entryway to the corridor what looks like floorboards in his arms.

“What am _I_ doing? What are _you_ doing?” Dean points to the wood.

“I am boarding up the windows,” Castiel tells him with a frown, as if it was obvious.

“Oh,” Dean rubs the back of his neck, burning with guilt. “Of course. We should make sure the place is safe before we uh— get comfy— I suppose. Sorry.”

“No need to apologize,” Castiel surprises Dean with a sunny smile. “I am taking care of it and of you. You may rest.”

“No way, I wanna help,” Dean protests even though his wings are saying otherwise, dragging behind him as limp as noodles.

Castiel lays the wood on the breakfast bar and turns to face Dean, expression stern. Dean crosses his arms. Castiel arches an eyebrow at him. Dean’s scowl deepens.

Then Castiel’s features go soft, forehead wrinkling in concern and eyes getting a glassy sheen to them.

“Fuck it,” Dean grumbles, collapsing back on to the couch. “You win this round.”

“Thank you Dean,” Castiel says, shuffling over and running a hand through Dean’s hair. Dean shies away, cheeks heating.

This causes Castiel to give him a knowing smile because he’s a little shit and _knows_ Dean likes the hair ruffling. Dean closes his eyes, hands on his stomach, head on the plush armrest. He hears Castiel’s feathers shift together as he moves. Then he hears the older angel’s breath, feels it close to his temple. Lips brush along the side of Dean’s face; soft chaste kisses that jolts Dean with electricity every time.

“Thank you,” Castiel repeats.

 Dean cracks open an eye. “What for?”

“You know what,” Castiel replies in a whisper, only for Dean to hear.

Dean turns on to his side, peering right into Castiel’s eyes. His wings twinge awkwardly behind him, but he ignores it. Dean leans forward and kisses Castiel’s lips sideways. His breath gets caught in his throat and his heart flutters happily as do his wings. Dean moves his lips firmer against Castiel’s as he feels his cold hand rub warmth into his upper arm.

“I don’t know what I would do without you,” Castiel says quietly, pulling away. His eyes are round, he’s afraid. His bottom lip sticks out in an unconscious pout. Dean kisses away the pout with a quick joining of their lips.

Castiel tilts his head down, not meeting Dean’s gaze. “I’m serious. I would be dead. I would be lost. I would have followed the crowd. I would have done terrible things.”

“No,” Dean shakes his head. “You’re too good.”

Castiel’s eyes flick to Dean’s. “Am I?”

“Why are you even questioning that?” Dean asks. He cups Castiel’s jaw and his thumb rubs against his angel’s stubbly cheek.

“I don’t know,” Castiel breathes out. “I find it hard to understand the actions of my siblings. If it weren’t for you or for Anael… I would have been beside Uriel fighting for Lucifer. Killing the innocent.”

“Don’t say that,” Dean chides. “You’re here with me right now and that’s all that matters.”

Castiel doesn’t reply so Dean sits up, shifting so Castiel is between his bowed legs. Castiel’s hands go on to Dean’s thighs.

“Say it, Cas,” Dean says as he runs a hand through that mop of dark hair.

“What?” Castiel cocks his head to the side.

“What I just said before,” Dean prompts.

Castiel visibly swallows. “I am here with you. Right now. And that is all that matters.”

“Don’t forget it Cas. I’d be dead without you.”

They kiss again, hands finding purchase on each other’s bodies, holding on like a lifeline because what they share between them is exactly what it is. A lifeline.

 

*

“FOOD!”

Dean all but screams in joy when he discovers the pantry in the kitchen and has to tense his back muscles to stop his wings from flapping excitedly and lifting him off of the ground. Dean is drooling at the sight of the pantry, the surprisingly _very full_ pantry. From his experiences as a human during the apocalypse, food was very hard to come by. Him, John and Sam would lead searching parties for food. They would raid houses, the Gas n’ Sips’, anything that had the potential of having a few crumbs worth of a meal.

“Dean you’re an angel now, you don’t have to eat,” Castiel says from the couch in the living room.

He lies on his side, resting. Dean had his rest, only to wake up from a nightmare. He insisted that Castiel should rest while he checks out the rest of the house. Castiel had already finished making the house ‘safe’ or whatever. Dean spied some weird squiggles and shapes on the doors and windows but shrugged it off as some more angel mojo crap. He’d have to ask Castiel to teach him what it all meant.

“Ohhh mama,” Dean licks his lips as he paws at a glass jar containing one of his favourite snacks: licorice. “Yes!”

Of course, pie would always come first, but they now they were as rare as angels had once been. Dean grabs the jar and clutching it close to his chest, turns around and sits at the breakfast bar that separates the kitchen from the living room. This way he can eat and watch over his angel. He opens it up and is met by overwhelming smells that he can’t all decipher. His new angel senses must have something to do with it. Overall, he smells one thing: sweet. Dean stuffs one hand in and pulls out two ropes of the twisted red licorice. He likes all kinds, but this is the nicest thing he’s seen all day. Besides Castiel’s ass, that is.

With his stomach tightening in anticipation, he takes a monstrous bite.

Then he spits it out viciously.

“What the fuck!”

“Dean?” Castiel asks sleepily from the couch.

“It tastes—” Dean’s voice breaks off, horrified. “It tastes like shit!”

Castiel sits up, curiosity clear on his features, hair flattened on the side he was sleeping on, the other side still as unruly as ever.

“What does?”

Dean holds up his licorice stick, a frown on his face. “My candy.”

Castiel chest rises then deflates rapidly, letting Dean know that his angel just heaved out a sigh. “It’s because when you are an angel you simultaneously obtain every sense at a heightened fashion compared to the humans. It is understandable that this is overwhelming for you. After all, since you were human. And you are still acclimatizing to being angel even after all this time. You favor your human sense, correct?”

“Uh,” Dean blinks. “Yeah I guess. I get glimpses into it I suppose. It’s mostly my sight and hearing that I’ve gotten used to.”

“That is fair enough,” Castiel nods. “I will teach you to hone in on your angel senses, it will prove a great advantage for you I believe as a fighter.”

 _A fighter_. “Right,” Dean says.

Castiel stands, stretching his arms and wings, breathing in deeply.

“What’s up? Aren’t you gonna sleep?” Dean asks.

Castiel shakes his head. “I am too restless after flying for so long.” He walks over to the breakfast bar and rests his forearms on the tabletop, settling opposite of Dean. “What about you?”

“Me?” Dean puts the licorice back in its jar, feeling disheartened that he’s been put off the stuff for eternity now. He screws the lid back on. Sam would be happy about that. His hand freezes as feels another pang of hurt. It must show on his face because Castiel places a hand over Dean’s, concern shining in his eyes.

“Dean?”

“I’m fine,” Dean brushes off as he hops off the stool taking the jar with him and placing it back in the pantry.

“No you’re not,” Castiel says but lets it drop.

“I might try sleep again,” Dean says.

“You should take the bed in the master bedroom instead of the couch,” Castiel tells him.

Dean nods. “Yeah but I feel weird about it. I mean this is someone’s home, y’know.”

“Well,” Castiel frowns. “Not anymore. It is likely these people will never come back here.”

Dean sighs. “When you put it like that…”

Castiel comes around the bar and holds out a hand to Dean. “Come on.”

“What?” Dean grins, walking forward and taking a hold of Castiel’s hand. “You gonna tuck me in and kiss me goodnight?”

Castiel smiles at him, towing him towards the bedroom. “Something like that.”

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Love to see kudos', comments and feedback!


	17. A More Profound Bond

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Last time...
> 
> “What?” Dean grins, walking forward and taking a hold of Castiel’s hand. “You gonna tuck me in and kiss me goodnight?”  
> Castiel smiles at him, towing him towards the bedroom. “Something like that.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Merry Christmas y'all :)

Dean had been looking forward to what Castiel had in store for him in the bedroom, but as soon as he fell on top of the bed and sunk into the mattress… While in the nest, Dean had usually slept on his stomach, finding it to be the most comfortable position considering his wings and all. But here in some strangers’ house, the solid plush of the bed was too good to be true and he wrapped himself in the downy comforter and _snuggled_ in.

That’s right. Snuggled. Dean never snuggled.

He was a bit creeped out how his wings just naturally curled around his body but he was glad for the extra silky cushioning. Dean felt his body melt like butter, becoming thoroughly warm. It was a great relief, especially after flying through the terrible snowstorm a few hours back. It seemed like his marrowbone finally defrosted.  He had also learned that the crook of Castiel’s arm was a very good pillow. Soothed by the warmth, the softness, the rhythm of Castiel’s breathing… Dean was out like a light.

When Dean slowly comes around there’s a tingling warmth building up in his lower abdomen and he grinds his hips into the mattress. He sighs at the friction against his slowly hardening member. In the nest, it had been too damn cold to get morning wood.

“Hello Dean,” says an all too familiar voice.

Dean’s eyes snap open and he shoots up. He quickly finds Castiel sitting cross-legged at the foot of the bed, looking at him. Dean pulls the comforter closer, bunching it over his lap and discretely palms himself gently. He has to bite down on his bottom lip to keep back a moan.

“C-Cas,” Dean rasps, trying to snap out of his fuzzy arousal and sleepiness. He rubs his eyes with his knuckles to rid the tired blurriness.

“What were you dreaming of?” Castiel asks.

“Nothing!” Dean says quickly. He feels heat shoot south and crawling up his neck as he remembers the dream Castiel. His soft warm hands travelling all over Dean’s body, leaving no crack or crevice untouched. The sweet nothings whispered into his ear by that gravelly voice.

“Did you sleep well?” Castiel asks, his wings shaking and then curling out and around his body.

Hell yeah he did. “Um, yes,” Dean replies. Then he frowns at Castiel. “What…are you doing?”

But he can kind of guess. There is his Castiel, preening. His wings have boxed him in, so his fingers are able to reach the feathers. He combs through it methodically.

“I am grooming my wings,” Castiel says with a wry smile.

Dean runs a hand through his hair, squinting. “What time is it? It’s pretty dark.”

“Close to seven o’clock,” Castiel replies.

Because of Dean’s extra angel senses, he sees Castiel’s soul shine through his skin, the only light source apart from himself in the gloomy room.  He’s gotten used to the fact they sort of glow. He probably looks like one of those creepy ornaments you find in gardens but it doesn’t make Castiel any less handsome. Fucker.

Castiel suddenly chuckles, shocking Dean because laughter is a rare thing from his angel. His attention is diverted to the blue-eyed angel’s pointing finger. Dean reaches up and gingerly touches his hair.

“What?” He demands.

“It’s messy,” Castiel says and the corners of his eyes crinkle as the smile on his face widens.

Dean runs his hands through it, trying to placate the bed hair into his usual style while grumbling, “It’s not like you can talk. Your hair looks like you’ve been electrocuted or something.”

Castiel’s mirth disappears and his fingers move from his wings to his hair. “Does it?”

“Yeah,” Dean yawns, hand over his mouth.

Castiel’s cheekbones go pink. “I… I g-guess I don’t pay much attention because I focus my grooming on my wings.”

“Fair enough,” Dean shrugs. “And who cares anyways? It’s the freaking apocalypse.”

Castiel starts to pat down his hair anyways and Dean shoots forward. His wings happily decide making him go tumbling into the older angel. If Castiel were human, then Dean would have easily sent the both of them off of the bed.

But Castiel is like a rock in a running stream and he manages to catch Dean. The denim strains against Dean’s lap, his cock taking interest in being manhandled by Castiel.

“Sorry!” Dean yelps.

He struggles to untangle himself and finds himself sitting in the middle of Castiel’s pretzel-shaped crossed legs, his legs around the back of his angel’s waist. Once realizing his plight his brain chooses to allow himself to babble in order to distract Castiel from his tented jeans and hopefully his boner will kill itself.

“Jesus Christ, I’m sorry Cas. J-Just these, uh, wings are pretty hard to control sometimes and I guess I still must be tired from all that flying and—”

Castiel looks up into Dean’s face, forehead wrinkled and eyes glowing with amusement. “Dean,” he pats Dean on the stomach. “It’s _fine_.”

Distracted by the touch to the little roll of pudge, Dean shifts backwards, only to realize that this would give Castiel a full view of his arousal. But apparently Castiel is too busy staring into Dean’s eyes or he has just chosen to ignore Dean’s bulging jeans.

Dean sets himself heavily down in front of Castiel, their knees touching and covers his lap with his hands.

“Is there a reason for your sudden attack?” Castiel asks benignly.

“Oh,” Dean stammers. “I wanted to—uh—stop you from fixing your hair. I like it messy.”

Castiel smirks.

Damn it, now the angel understands sexual innuendo. Dean feels the heat intensify and his hands abandon his crotch to cover his burning face.

“Never mind,” he says miserably.

Castiel takes pity on Dean and shuffles over to the younger angel and kisses the back of his hands. Dean peeks through his fingers.

“Don’t do that,” Dean admonishes. “You’re making me blush like a virgin.”

“I like it,” the older angel says lowly.

Castiel holds himself up with one hand propped against the mattress and the other trails from Dean’s knee and up his thigh, finally resting on his hipbone.  Dean’s breathing turns shallow. Castiel cranes his head to the side— leaning forward— lips brushing teasingly against Dean’s earlobe.

He whispers, “I love it when you blush all over, on your chest, in your cheeks…here…” Castiel’s hand slides subtly over Dean’s crotch.

“Fuck, Cas,” Dean’s voice turns husky as he feels heat swamp his body. His toes curls and his legs untangle themselves, spreading apart as Castiel cups him through the jeans. Dean stifles a cry of delight and pleasure as Castiel’s fingers squeeze experimentally.

“Oh! Oh yes— Cas— don’t stop,” Dean pleads.

His hands fling out behind him, gripping the comforter, unable to stay upright without support. The younger angel bites the inside of his cheek as the older angel’s thumb presses along the line of his erection while those long fingers feel around further back...

“Damn it, you cocktease,” Dean groans around clenched teeth. The burn, the heat, the flaming desire and want is too much and he can’t control himself as he grabs Castiel roughly by the shoulders and rolls them.

Dean looks down at Castiel and his wide-eyed surprise. Those pink lips part, going to say something and Dean swallows it with a fevered kiss. 

Dean lays himself in between Castiel’s legs with their tongues sliding hotly together and their teeth nibbling each other’s lips. Between it all he managed to shuck of his restricting jeans. He feels Castiel’s arousal is as hard as his and they both break apart from the kiss to expel groans and sighs of relief at the touch. Dean grinds his hips down, mouth latching on to the spot between Castiel’s neck and shoulder. He sucks a hickey into the trembling flesh. Castiel’s hips buck, wild all of a sudden.

Dean pulls back, drawing out a whine from Castiel.

“Dean—!”

The ex-human grabs the hemline of his angel’s pants and hauls them down roughly, moving back and off of the bed to pull them off from where they pooled at his feet. Completely nude, Castiel eyes him with blow pupils with a sliver of apprehension showing in his crinkled brow. Castiel slides back until his head rests against what had been Dean’s pillow. Dean feels likes he’s under a spell, frozen and drinking in the sight of Castiel.

The dark-winged angel’s hand sneaks across his chest, slides over his abdomen and then wraps around his own cock. The blue eyes flutter close. Dean slumps back on to the bed, knees giving way and watches hazy-eyed. Castiel licks his bruised lips and his back arches a little as he slides his hard member into his fist. A broken gasp follows a pleased moan while Castiel plants his feet flat on the mattress, jerking off.

“For being a holy creature, Cas,” Dean trails kisses along Castiel’s knee, “you’re damned dirty.”

Castiel’s eyes open, “O-Only for you. Never for anyone else b-before.”

Dean turns his head to face Castiel. “Hmmm?”

“Dean,” Castiel pants, hands drawing glistening pre-cum from his dick. “Dean, I’ve never had anybody before but you.”

Dean had suspected as much and feels a tightening pressure in his chest, in his stomach and quickly gives Castiel’s mouth a chaste but firm kiss.

“Good,” Dean whispers before he moves back, his mouth dragging along Castiel’s inner thigh.

Dean tucks his legs under himself so they won’t get in the way of his goal: Castiel. Castiel cries out as Dean’s tongue glides over his cock. It presses against the plane of his belly, hard and leaking. His hands curl in Dean’s short light brown hair.

“Dean come here,” Castiel urges, tugging on his lover’s hair, guiding him.

Their lips meet in a frenzied passion. Dean’s breath hitches as Castiel fists a handful of russet feathers. The ones that meet with flesh at Dean’s right shoulder blade. His lips part with a broken moan as those knowledgeable fingers prod _that_ spot. Castiel’s tongue slips into the cave of Dean’s mouth, skating across teeth and gum. They pull away in need of breath and Dean tucks a hand between their molded bodies. Dean wraps his hand as best he can around both of their cocks.

“OH!” Castiel cries out, hips stutter in their jerking movements.

Dean strokes them, grip firm but not too rough. Underneath them, Castiel’s wings spread open in a surprising submissive nature. Dean can feel his own wings stretching almost painfully as the pleasure throbs through his whole body.

Castiel suddenly slaps his hand against Dean’s upper arm, fingers digging into the flesh and hard muscle.

“Ah!” Dean gasps as tries to pull away from Castiel. “W-What the hell? Cas! What are you—?”

Then the words die on the tip of his tongue as he sees Castiel’s eyes shine with a blue ethereal light and he feels something deep in his core erupt. Dean collapses on top of Castiel. One hand bunches up in the material of the pillowcase beside Castiel’s head. The other hangs on tight to Castiel’s protruding hipbone.

Scorching flames consume them as Dean feels himself getting lost in the smoldering glow that sparks underneath his skin. He hardly notices it when the both of them come, spurting white and mingling with each other’s. Emotions run amuck between them as the world seems to slow down then whirl forward the moment their souls touch.

A convergence more profound than the physical touch and through it all Dean and Castiel cling to each other. Their true angel voices scream together, causing shattering glass and ceramic throughout the house and down the street block.

Once it’s over Dean reckons it's a miracle that he’s not deaf or paralyzed.

“Cas,” Dean breathes out. “What… was…?” He can’t even finish the question he’s so damned speechless and bone weary. Castiel’s condition must be similar as his fingers simply twitch in the direction of their bodies and the stickiness sandwiched between them disappears.

“I am sorry,” Castiel whispers and his spindly fingers comb through the hair at the back of Dean’s head. The younger angel hums at the shivers he gets from it.

“Sorry for what?” Dean asks blearily.

“I should have warned you,” Castiel says with a slight slur in his speech. “Angels are extremely spiritually orientated and…”

Dean lifts his head up and sees that Castiel’s eyes have closed. The younger angel raises a trembling hand and pats the older angel on the cheek.

“Cas?” Dean grunts out. “Hey… Man, wake up.”

Castiel jolts beneath Dean and his eyes are hazy with exhaustion. “Oh… Sorry…”

“Fine,” Dean mumbles, his head rests in the crook of Castiel’s neck. “Just tell me ‘bout this thing then… we can…” he feels his eyes droop.

“Our souls have touched in a moment of passion—” Castiel yawns widely “—on mutual and honest emotion we made our mark.”

“Mark?” Dean shakes himself awake and peels himself off of Castiel’s incredibly warm and comfy body.

The younger angel settles in next to his lover, one of his legs and an arm draping over him. Castiel’s arms open to accommodate him and his fingers lightly brush against Dean’s shoulder. A pleasurable tingly sensation blossoms in his arm.

“Mark,” Castiel says and Dean feels the older angel poke at the spot of his shoulder.

“Oh,” Dean forces his eyes open and tries his best to crane his neck to see this mark that Castiel speaks of. He sees what appear to be stripes, red and shiny, months old burns. The black-winged angel grasps Dean’s fingers in his own and guides them down.

“I don’t think I’m ready for round two, Cas,” Dean says tiredly.

“No,” Castiel huffs out a laugh. “Your mark. On me.”

Dean looks down and sees a handprint—his handprint—smack bang on Castiel’s hip. The brown-winged angel’s eyes pop out of his head almost comically.

“Well, damn,” Dean blinks.

“Indeed,” Castiel says.

“So what…? Permanent hickeys?” Dean cracks.

Castiel smiles. “I suppose so. It also means we are infinitely closer to each other in ways… In ways you probably won’t understand.”

“Okay,” Dean rubs at his eyes, trying to keep awake.

Castiel pets his hair. “Go to sleep… I won’t… be awake for much…”

The two angels fell asleep almost simultaneously. Their souls bonded and their hearts content in the simply joy of being in each other’s company.

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't forget to kudos, comment, subscribe and all that jazz! Really appreciate it, you lovely people!


	18. For The Nights I Can't Remember

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Last time...
> 
> The two angels fell asleep almost simultaneously. Their souls bonded and their hearts content in the simply joy of being in each other’s company.

Two years ago, maybe even five, Dean Winchester would have laughed in the face of the concept of having a romantic relationship. Before the angels came it was always on the road hunting with Dad and then Sam. After the angels came it was always: look to the sky, keep yourself out of sight and don’t talk to anyone who looks in the least bit shady.

Dean woke and he saw pale morning light seep in through the boarded windows. The bands of light splayed over Castiel and Dean’s entangled bodies. Dean had felt his heart melt and ran his fingers through the soft tousles of Castiel’s coal black hair. The warmth of his skin underneath Dean’s fingers made him buzz with fondness and affection and… dare he think it: love? Castiel’s pink lips twitched and his eyelids fluttered as he roused.

Dean bathed in the blue stare that mirrored what he felt inside. In line with his arms, Dean’s wings embraced Castiel and he pressed a kiss to his angel’s cheek. His lips were cold in the brisk morning. Castiel’s fingers skimmed over the dark brown shades that towards the tips turned into lighter shades and caused Dean’s wings to tremble.

“We leave in five minutes,” Castiel had said in a low voice.

“Okay,” Dean had replied.

Dean rolled out of bed—butt-naked and messy-haired— and stumbled to the bathroom that conjoined with the bedroom. His spring green eyes were immediately drawn to the mirror and at the mark on his upper arm.  It was exactly like the one on Castiel’s hip, a burn in the shape of a handprint.

Instead of hurting when he touched it, his stomach was filled with that twisting feeling he gets when he’s near Castiel. Dean had simply shrugged at his reflection. So what? Now he’s got himself a piece of Castiel. The angel had said that the mark made them more connected. Whatever the hell that meant Dean felt he could trust Castiel with it.

It drove him up the wall thinking about it. Him, Dean Winchester soul-bonded to Castiel, an angel, and falling for him further and further. His thoughts were the perfect symbolism of an oxymoron.

It was crazy, but it also made perfect sense to be head over heels for Castiel.

“I found some warm clothes that we can wear,” Castiel had walked into the bathroom without knocking. In his arms were pairs of sweaters and coats and boots. Winter clothes had been a great idea.

Dean was sure he jumped two feet off the ground in surprise when Castiel waltzed in unannounced. “Damn it!” Dean had rubbed his face tiredly. “You need to wear a bell.”

“A… bell…?” Castiel had asked slowly, truly bewildered by the suggestion.

“Never mind,” Dean shook his head with a fond smile.

Saying goodbye to the stranger’s home that had been their sanctuary for a day had been hard. A part of Dean wanted to stay. He wanted to feel safe for a little while longer. He wanted to spend more time with Castiel without the impending cloud of doom hanging over their heads. But realistically it could never happen.

It was a dream that would only be true when Dean went to sleep at night.

Dean pulls the woolen beanie down further over his ears. He wipes a quickly melting snowflake from his eye with the back of gloved hand with an irritated grumble escaping his dried lips. He banks to the left, weight shifting and wings battling against the wind, to avoid a cloud.

Although Castiel had said clouds provided more cover and would be a good idea to either fly through them or stay close, Dean was adamant about staying away from them. He hates the cold moisture sticking to him like a second skin, probably even more than he did flying. Dean has definitely loosened up and finds he can fly alongside Castiel.

The days of trailing behind or being towed along are long gone. It’s scary how natural he feels gliding through the sky, the world spinning past him. He fiddles and pulls the coat’s lapels further over his chest. Since it’s not actually Dean’s coat the heavy material is a little tight around the shoulders, but he can’t complain. He’s warm and that’s all that matters. He wiggles his toes, his feet cocooned in thick socks and winter boots.

Flying causes his feet to get pins and needles, would you believe it?

Dean takes a peek down at the ground, at what he can glimpse through the grey clouds below him. Nothing he can’t recognize.

“Hey, Cas, where are we?” Dean asks, craning his head to the left.

Panic constricts him in a sickening grip.

Castiel is gone.

Dean’s wings extend and he spins a little out of control. Once he stabilizes, his wings continuously flap in rhythm with his pounding heart to keep himself upright. Dean manages to do a complete slow circle, eyes darting about in search for Castiel. Subconsciously, his hand raises and he chews on his nails in worry. Maybe he flew ahead too far? He didn’t see Castiel take the lead. What if something took him? Demons couldn’t fly, could they? What if it was another angel? One that had gone dark side like Uriel?

“Cas, where are you?” Dean shouts into the cloud infested ashen heavens. He turns around sharply, having heard _something_ behind him.

“Cas!” Dean calls out uncertainly.

Nothing. No reply.

Fear grows in his chest. He’s surrounded by nothing but sky and the eerie whistling of the wind clashing with his feathers. Dean shivers and wraps his arms around himself. He’s torn between staying put and moving forward. A shadow passes overhead. Dean cranes his neck back and his body tenses up all over as he takes a defensive stance. Seconds crawl by. An explosion of pain erupts from his shoulder and he curls up.

“Fuck!” Dean cries out, taken by surprise, gritting his teeth together. His wings keep him in the air, flapping madly and causing currents of frenzied wind. As the pain subsides, he realizes that this invisible force is tugging on his arm and trying to get him to move.

 _Castiel_.

The younger angel draws in a deep breath before he propels himself forward, slicing through the sky like a bat out of hell and going to wherever the hell Castiel was taking him. Adrenaline pulses through him like a second heartbeat. Dean’s got no idea where Castiel is, but it feels as if the black-winged angel is _there with him_. Then he understands it so suddenly it physically shakes him: it must be the soul bond.

“Come on, Castiel,” Dean growls out, hoping with all his being, for a response. “Talk to me. Where are you? What’s going on?”

 _‘Dean,_ ’ the gravelly voice sends a wave of relief crashing over the brown-winged angel. But the fact that his angel has become disembodied is disconcerting. ‘ _Dean can you hear me?’_

“Yes,” Dean replies quickly.

‘ _Good. I don’t have enough energy to do so many things at once,_ ” Castiel’s voice rings true in Dean’s head.

“How can I hear you?” Dean asks. “Is this that soul bond thing? Cause’ it sure as hell is pretty freaky.”

Dean senses a pulse of disappointment coming from Castiel.

“Oh,” Dean adds. “Freaky in a good way. Anyways, what’s—” he breaks off as he decides to take a sharp turn. “Shit! Sorry. What’s going on?”

 _‘I am sorry for the secretiveness,_ ’ Castiel says and Dean can almost see the angel ducking his head with embarrassment.

Then, a sensation of riled up determination suddenly flares from Castiel’s side. ‘ _Unbeknownst to you, I sensed a presence following us. If I had warned you I feared it would give up the chase and return later without either of our knowledge.  I circled back, hoping it would follow you so that I could follow it. It’s in pursuit of you, as I am of it. Don’t worry. Just. Keep. Flying.’_

“Where are we going?” Dean asks.

‘ _The same destination, just a different course,_ ’ Castiel replies. ‘ _We are very close.’_ A touch of encouragement zaps through the link causing Dean to yip in surprise.

“How come I can feel… _you_?” Dean demands.

‘ _Our connection is on so many levels now, Dean,_ ’ Castiel reveals. _‘I too can sense your majoring emotion… Fear.’_

Dean chews his bottom lip. How the hell do you wear a mask, when a person is there behind it with you?

Castiel’s tone grows sad. ‘ _Don’t be afraid._ ’

“Yeah, well…” Dean laughs bitterly, “I can’t exactly ignore you when you’re in my head, Cas.”

The pause of silence between their minds is cut short. Dean’s ears ring as Castiel screams out in his true angel voice. This time, unlike before, Dean understands what Castiel warns:

‘LOOK OUT! ABOVE!’

 

*

 

Everything is blurry like an unfocused camera lens. Dean worries about if it’s true that if your head sustains constant knockouts that you can lose brain cells. Over the course of the half-year with Castiel, Dean has gotten used to waking up in a place he doesn’t know and feeling like an anvil had been dropped on his head.

“He’s coming around.”

Dean’s wings twitch in recognition of Castiel’s voice and he struggles to focus on the things in his box of vision. He sees: concerned blue eyes, a mop of black hair. Above him is a building’s infrastructure. Old faded crimson with white lines of peeling paint like lightning strikes on a blood-red sunrise.

He winces as his eyes flick over to something incredibly bright. The pounding in his head increases as he stares at the thing, blinding as the sun. He’s drawn to it and it’s familiarity. Fingers dance across the side of his face, distracting him. Relief bleeds into Castiel’s worried face as Dean really looks at him.

“You’re safe Dean,” Castiel says in such a way that makes Dean’s insides turn into the equivalent of baby food.

The blue-eyed angel’s usual stony features relax into a gummy smile. Dean opens his mouth only to have something clog his throat and he ends up coughing harshly. He sees a flimsy plastic cup of water being passed to Castiel by an unknown source. Dean gulps the liquid greedily as it’s raised to his lips, looking blearily over the lip of the cup at his surroundings.

Envelopes. Parcels. Paper strewn all about him. It must be a post office. Then he sees the metaphorical elephant in the room: one of the walls has been knocked over.

Recently.

Particles of dust stream through the air. A pile of bricks collapses and in the shock of it, Dean chokes on the water and it travels up his nose. His hands shoot up to wipe his face, reddening with shame. He feels himself slipping backwards. Castiel catches Dean by bracketing the younger angel with his dark and larger wing. Dean shudders. Castiel rubs comforting circles over Dean’s heaving chest.

“Easy,” Castiel tells him, setting the cup to the side. “Oh, Dean. You never cease to astound me. You have to rest, regain your strength. What you did is exactly what Anael had hoped for."

“W-what?” Dean croaks despite the water he had just drunken. “What did I do?”

Castiel tilts his head. “Don’t you remember?”

“What happened?” Dean asks.

A new voice chimes in. “You broke my hand and knocked down a building, that’s what!”

Dean winces at the too loud noise.

“Hush,” Castiel hisses irritably at the person—no, angel.

Dean’s vision adjusts once again and like a Polaroid picture coming into colour, he sees the newcomer.  A short, brunette male angel stands behind Castiel. He has the largest wings Dean has ever seen, decked with layers of lustrous gold feathers.

“Who are you?” Dean whispers, unable to manage anything louder.

The angel replies with an impish smile and says, “They call me Gabriel.”

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dun dun duuhhh! :D Love to hear positive feedback from you guys!


	19. Enter Sandman

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Last time...
> 
> “Who are you?” Dean whispers, unable to manage anything louder.  
> The angel replies with an impish smile and says, “They call me Gabriel.”

 

 _‘_ _LOOK OUT! ABOVE!’_

_Great golden walls of feathers caging in, a rage-filled screech follows and the open sky returns. A flash of black brings comfort, relief and the hope that all will be right. Castiel looms above. To Dean, he is an imposing figure. His black wings extend to the full wingspan, beautiful._

_But he is a mere fledgling thrush facing off a devious and wise eagle._

_The angel stands in front of his ward, his lover, his other half. Ready to defend with tooth and nail, even under obvious impossible odds. First he pleads and tries to explain. Calls the grand being ‘brother’. Those whiskey-coloured eyes, both Castiel and Dean can see, are brimmed with determination and grief. An attempt at a truce would prove fruitless._

_Castiel strikes first: a quick slash with his silver angel blade. He misses by a hairbreadth. Dean wants to join the fight but he’s held back. Fear. He is paralyzed with it for this new entity, so blinding and powerful, will surely kill them both._

_Then he hears it._

‘Don’t be afraid.’

_Castiel had told him only moments ago. And here Dean was, being a pussy. His fists clench. Castiel’s left wing crumples as it bends in a way it shouldn’t under the other angel’s hand. The smaller-winged angel’s mouth is agape, releasing a blood-chilling scream. Dean feels the same explosion of passion and animalistic instinct as he did when that demon had run its filthy fingers through his angel’s hair._

‘Don’t be afraid.’

 _Shaking with anger, Dean pounces on to the shoulders of their opponent. He grabs the golden-winged angel’s hand and rips it off and away from Castiel. The bones in the hand break with a satisfying crunch. The need to protect Castiel eases inside of Dean, but the threat is still there and he won’t stop until it is snuffed out. Castiel hovers in the air, recovering, while the fight continues._ _Dean receives a blow to his solar plexus and he forgets to breathe but he keeps on pummeling the other angel with his wings, legs, and fists. Whatever he can reach with._

_It’s not too long after that spots begin to dot his vision._

_“DEAN!” Castiel cries as Dean starts to loose consciousness._

_Before the darkness takes him, Dean looks straight into his opponent’s eyes and the words leave his mouth before he could filter it through his brain._

_“We are not the enemy.”_

_Then he’s falling._

*

Castiel admired and favored the golden-winged archangel the best.

He also found the archangel trust-worthy as he explained his point of view of what had progressed this last year. Gabriel had been in hiding. Secretly planning assaults on demon kind and protecting humans. When he got word of the Winchesters— Sam being taken by Lucifer and Dean being turned into an angel—he decided to do something about it and became allies with Anael. The archangel had told Anael his location, but Samandriel had overheard their conversation. Gabriel sent his group of humans to get him, but found out that Lucifer was able to communicate telepathically.

Castiel now understood why Anael had told him to kill Samandriel and a great weight was lifted off his wings. When Gabriel sensed Anael had died (they had created an allied bond to keep tabs on each other) he feared Cas had gone dark side. He thought that Castiel was holding Dean prisoner or manipulating him.

Evidently, the golden-winged archangel had been on the way to find Dean and to rescue him. Although Castiel found that Gabriel was sometimes rude and inappropriate, the archangel was kind-hearted. Castiel has some fond memories of when he was a just a little one. Gabriel always took the time to fool around with the hoards of his younger siblings. It seems so long ago that Heaven had been a sanctuary and a home. Now… Castiel supposed that technically meant he was considered homeless. But he didn’t feel so empty or lonely whenever he was with Dean.

At first he had considered Dean as nothing more than a human that had crossed its line. Now they were much more. Bonded until the day they die together. There wasn’t a single doubt in Castiel’s mind that that when their lives would end it would be side by side. And he knew that because of their circumstances the clock was speeding up.

But it was okay.

What was that human expression? ‘Home is where the heart is’. Castiel liked that. He liked it a lot.

Gabriel had taken them to a place he liked to call ‘Gabriel’s Lair’ saying that if that they did not want to be put on the menu as entrees for a legion of demons then they should stay with him and his people for the night.

Castiel would not be being entirely truthful if he didn’t think the place was rather miserable looking. Although the refrigeration systems had long been inactive, it was still so terribly cold. There were a few human refugees huddled against the walls and corners. These people were extremely fortunate despite the location for they were under the protection of Gabriel. The humans welcomed them in but kept their distance.

Dean had inexplicably turned shy.

Castiel wasn’t sure the ex-human had realized what he was doing— but as they ventured into the room— Dean trailed behind so close that if the dark-winged angel were to stop, they surely would have collided. Castiel was brought to a halt as his attention was drawn to a slight tug on his feathers.

“Cas, can we sit there?” Dean asks, voice quiet.

Castiel sees where the younger angel was pointing. A compact area, a gap in the towering racks and just big enough for two angels. It was there that night at the very back of the storerooms of an abandoned grocery store that Castiel had first noticed the increase of amount and intensity of the nightmares that Dean had been receiving.

An anxious noise— something like a low-pitched whine— comes from the curled-up form of the younger angel. Castiel looks down at his lap where Dean’s head was resting and feels him shiver. Thinking him to be cold, Castiel draws the blanket further up, tucking the heavy material under Dean’s chin. The brown-winged angel suddenly thrashes against the confines; wings all a-flutter and his features contort into a pained expression.

“Dean,” Castiel’s voice breaks the nighttime silence.

He hears a few incoherent murmurs from the ‘light sleeper’ humans. Castiel shakes the ex-human by the shoulder, fingertips tingling at the mark of their soul bond, even though it was underneath the layers of clothes. Dean’s chest began to convulse and his lips part as he gulps in shallow breaths. Castiel presses two fingers against Dean’s clammy forehead and wills him to wake up through the use of his grace. But subconsciously Dean resists against the touch.

“Dean! Wake up!”

Castiel shifts so he can rest Dean’s head against a pillow one of the human’s had so generously given them. Dean balls up into a fetal position with his pale cheeks glistening. _Tears,_ he realizes and concern stabs into Castiel’s chest. He caresses Dean’s face with the back of his fingers— feather light touches— hoping to calm him.

Dean’s back arches and a wail of, “ _No_ ,” sets off a quiet chatter through the storeroom and Castiel is forced to use more primitive ways to try and break Dean free from his night terror. With guilt already building up deep in his core, Castiel backhands Dean hard across the face and the crack of knuckles against jawbone resonates. Dean cries out but his eyes persistently remain shut.

“What’s wrong?” Castiel demands but he knows he won’t get an answer.

He pulls off Dean’s beanie and throws it carelessly to the side. The older angel places a hand on the younger angel’s forehead. Hot. Too hot even for an angel. His panic multiplies. He’s never seen anything like this before. Then again, Dean wasn’t exactly your everyday ordinary celestial being. The room suddenly brightens and Castiel recognises the light source immediately.

“What is with the screams of terror?” Gabriel stretches. “I _was_ having my beauty sleep, y’know.”

A few tittering laughs come from the group of humans who have flocked together at the most distant point from the pair of angels.

“I can’t wake him,” Castiel’s voice breaks and he chastises himself mentally for the show of weakness especially in the company of an archangel. But then Gabriel was opposite him, crouching over Dean frowning with concern and a wave of reassurance sweeps over Castiel.

“Can you do anything for him, brother?” Castiel asks, tone pleading.

Gabriel glances up at Castiel and smiles warmly—eyes crinkling and dimples forming—before the archangel lays one hand on Dean’s forehead and the other over the heart. Castiel squints as the light that shines out from under Gabriel’s palms becomes almost blinding. Dean shoots up with a husky gasp for air, eyes round and dilated, his wings snapping outward instinctively. Castiel has his arms around Dean in an instant.

“C-Cas?” The younger angel startles.

He covers Castiel’s arms with his trembling own and looks around himself, disorientated. Castiel noses Dean’s pulse point breathes in his scent deeply: something like Earth’s cedar wood and cinnamon mixed with cloves and rosemary.

The blue-eyed angel pulls away only to give Dean a deep kiss and tastes the saltiness of sweat and tears. Dean jumps again, this time pleasantly surprised. But before Castiel can lose himself in the feeling Dean breaks away with a disturbing question:

“Uh, if you don’t mind me asking— where the hell are we?”

Castiel can feel every bone is his body freeze with the questions. His mind is bombarded with confusion. Does Dean _not remember_ coming here? They had flown and yes, Dean had seemed introverted which was out of character but Castiel had simply thought it was because the newly made angel was in suddenly in the company of an archangel. Then Dean was even quieter as they walked into ‘Gabriel’s Lair’.

Castiel grasped Dean’s hand in a vice-like grip.

Dean had mentioned that he ‘was not feeling so hot’.

But Castiel had thought that was in reference to how cool the temperature was.

“Ow! Hey, easy,” Dean winces at their tightly entwined hands.

Castiel made a split-second decision. He put his fingers up to Dean’s forehead and soon enough the younger angel’s eyes roll back into his skull then promptly collapses on top of Castiel.

“Good call, little bro,” Gabriel tells him. “Was about to do that myself.”

Castiel cradles Dean in his arms and wings. “What’s wrong with him?”

“It must be Michael’s grace reacting with him,” Gabriel says uncharacteristically serious. “You can see it’s disagreeing with his body and mind: the loss of memory, hot and cold flushes…”

“The sudden bursts of power at the fight must have affected him,” Castiel says breathlessly. “And then there was the couple of days when he tore a demon apart.”

“It looks like he can’t decide whether to accept the grace or not,” Gabriel’s hand hovers over Dean’s abdomen. “The excessive usage of it must open the door a little and then his human side comes back and slams into it.”

“What can I do?” Castiel asks bleakly.

“You?” Gabriel shrugs. “Nothing. Make him comfortable. Rub his feet. I don’t know. Me on the other hand… I’ll put the memories back in so he won’t be so befuddled. When he wakes up he’ll remember everything and by then I shall have thought _this,_ ” he waves a hand wildly about, “out.”

Castiel seizes Gabriel’s hand and squeezes it. “Thank you.”

Gabriel just smiles. “You must be attached.”

“We have a soul bond,” Castiel tells him and he feels a pleased flush rising to his cheeks.

Realization dawns on Gabriel’s face. “Ah-hah. So that’s what that is. I couldn’t put my finger on it. I knew there was something going on.”

Castiel releases his hand of Gabriel’s and moves it to Dean’s hair, carding through it and feeling a bubbly sense of relief and happiness as his sleeping angel lets out a content sigh.

Gabriel chuckles. “Got it bad?”

Castiel looked up at him. ”It?” He repeats.

“Dad’s favourite word: love,” Gabriel clarifies.

Castiel ducks his head down and his heartbeat accelerates as he drinks in the sight of those long dark lashes and the freckles scattered over Dean’s nose. The slightly parted full lips, a quiet snore escaping. Castiel runs a finger along the small dip in Dean’s chin with a long sigh.

“You have no idea.”

 

*

 

Dean wakes up with a wide smile on his face having had a most excellent dream about…

“Looks like somebody slept well despite their fit at 2am,” Gabriel’s voice broke his train of thought.

Dean cringes at the memories of the darkened storeroom illuminated by Gabriel’s shimmering golden wings and the worried face of Castiel and the curious people who had come closer to watch what had been going on. He saw the interest in their eyes. The fear mingled with excitement.

Dean knew a lot about nightmares. Ever since he was four he had been acquainted with them. Last night had been the fight with Gabriel. The helplessness writhing inside of him must have escaped into reality.

He remembers in the nightmare he fell into a passageway. No, it was a tunnel. But instead of light at the end of it, there was a darkness that ate away at the walls and he feared it would swallow him whole.The thing about dreams and nightmares was that they were usually personal and Dean was fine with that. But _everybody_ had heard or seen his predicament.  The younger angel grows beet red, he reaches behind his head, pulls and buries his face in the pillow a boy named Rodney had given him.

Gabriel laughs good-naturedly. “Don’t you worry, Dean-o. The whole lot of my peeps also saw Cassie’s mother-henning.”

Dean groans into the soft downy. Then he peers out over the cushion warily like a soldier would look over the trench wall. He sees a pack of children pointing at him, hands over their mouths, eyes bright. Dean feels his ears burn. He glances left and then right. No Castiel in sight. Dean frowns.

“Where’s—?”

“Lover boy? Helping my people go out and grab some grub. I put myself in charge of babysitting so be thankful,” Gabriel says from his spot on a stool a few feet away from Dean. He perches right on the edge, two of the legs off of the ground, balancing.

“What are you? A kung fu master?” Dean asks, trying to understand how Gabriel is not applying to the laws of gravity and physics.

“No, call me… Yoda,” Gabriel says with a smug smirk curving his thin lips.

Dean raises an eyebrow at the archangel. “Are you serious? I actually can’t tell if you are or not.”

Gabriel rolls his eyes with a sigh of exasperation and allows the stool to fall back on to its four legs. He puts his feet out in front of him and leans his forearms against his knees, clasping his hands together.

“So?” Gabriel asks.

Dean points at himself. “Who, me?”

“Yes— No, _The Worm_ from _Labyrinth_ — yes, you!” Gabriel exclaims, voice raising an octave. “How are you feeling?”

Dean thought about it for a moment. Then, “Fine, I suppose. Hell of a lot better than I felt last night and yesterday.”

Gabriel nods, an impassive mask coming over his usually humor-filled face. Then the smile returns and the moment of seriousness is gone as quick as Dean took the time to blink.

“Ready to kick ass, then?” The archangel questions. 

The younger angel grins. “Always. Why?”

“No reason,” Gabriel shrugs. “You gotta be ready for any and every thing here. Lucy,” he breaks off at Dean’s look of confusion, “ _Lucifer_ ,” he corrects, “is quickly spreading his stupid ever since Michael got blasted to smithereens. I guess I got your little brother to thank for that, am I right?”

Dean runs a hand through his already mussed-up hair and vaguely wonders where his beanie went. “Well, what can I say? Sam’s always been the black sheep of the family.”

Gabriel snort. “Yeah, a black sheep with demonic powers.”

A long stretch of silence passes between them and Dean fills it by clearing his throat and slowly getting up from his spot on the floor. He pushes off the multiple blankets wondering if Castiel had given them up instead of using them, like he should have. Dean stands and extends his wings and shakes them— a few feathers letting loose—the skin at his back rubs at the holes in the back of singlet, t-shirt, flannel and jacket. All borrowed from that house they’d taken refuge in.

“Hey,” Gabriel comes over to him. “Castiel told me about this soul bond of yours. You and him are a thing, right?”

“What’s it to you if I said that we were?” Dean asks in order to evade answering the actual question. “I know you’re like his big brother. I understand if you’re—concerned—or whatever.”

Gabriel actually laughs. “Me? Concerned about _Castiel_? Oh please, that kid can take care of himself. He’s…” his brows draw together as he searches for a word: “Independent. I dig that.”

“Okay…” Dean says slowly. “So why are we talking about this?”

“My worries lie with you,” Gabriel steps closer and pokes Dean in the chest. He looks up at the younger angel, his grand wings flaring up a little. “You understand what a soul bond is?”

“I know enough,” Dean tells him, feeling suddenly defensive.

“Then you know its permanent?” Gabriel’s eyebrows fly up his forehead.

Dean simply nods. “I know.”

Gabriel pulls a thoughtful face, and nods back once. “All right,” he says and steps back.

Dean tilts his head, brows drawing in together. “What?”

“Nothing,” Gabriel waves it away. “Honestly, I’m glad that both of you are head over heels for each other. Not to be a sap or anything. War is a tough time. You don’t see... well, _this love thing_ about so much.”

“End of the world, man,” Dean puts his hand up in mock-surrender. “Me and Cas figured that it was now or never, I suppose. I mean— our lives… the world… it’s not like it’ll never end. Do you get what I mean?”

“Not really,” Gabriel claps Dean on the shoulder and making the less powerful angel stumble to the side a little. “But I’m glad neither of you seem to be regretting your choice.”

Dean feels his throat tighten as he thinks of the concept of him _regretting_ what had transpired between Castiel and himself ever since that day he shot the angel from the sky. The moment he approached the fallen angel is so vivid in his memory. The conflicting emotions: anger and guilt.

The angel dubbed Raven who Dean would later know as Castiel— then Cas.

The doors of the storeroom are flung open with a bang and a human woman, who had not been in the shelter the night before, came barreling in with surprising speed. Dark-skinned with black curls and brown eyes, middle-aged and curvaceous. Dean recognized her immediately and laughs in disbelief. The Winchester moves quickly, using the help of his wings to get closer to her, and wrapping her tightly in his arms: so glad to see a familiar face.

“Don’t cuss at me Dean, or don’t you remember me telling you that?” Missouri Moseley chides.

Though the grin on her face seems glued there. The psychic Sam and Dean had met the last time they’d been so close to their first home. It seemed like a lifetime ago.

“I can cuss at you if I thought ‘thank fuck one of our friends is still alive’, can’t I?” Dean takes a civil step away. Missouri takes his hand in hers and Dean feels like he’s been transported back in time to that time they’d first talked with her. However, Sam was the one of the receiving end of that sympathetic look instead of Dean.

“Well, you sure look different, Dean,” Missouri says quietly.

Dean scratches the back of his neck, his wings shifting nervously about. “Well… A lot has happened.”

Missouri nods and squeezes his hand. “I know, boy.”

Gabriel clears his throat and Dean’s head snaps around so quickly he’s grateful he didn’t get whiplash.

“I’m glad the pleasantries are done but, Missouri, what is it?” Gabriel asks and his tone goes grave.

The psychic looks to Gabriel—completely unintimidated by his large wings—then to Dean. Dean has a bad feeling coming on. She pulls his hand closer to her and pats it with her other free hand. Missouri looks into his eyes, staring deep into his soul.

“Sam is here,” she tells him.

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Love to know your thoughts! Hope you enjoyed this chapter :)


	20. A Swan Song Revised

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Last time...
> 
> “Sam is here,” Missouri tells Dean.

Dean’s knees grow weak as the news hits him hard. The blood drains from his face as he thinks of how utterly screwed they are. He thinks of the floppy-haired too-tall kid he’s been looking out ever since the night of the fire that destroyed their childhood. If there’s a trace of Sam left and that’s a big if… How the hell is Dean meant to bring him back?

“Where specifically?” Gabriel is asking Missouri.

“Stull Cemetery,” she replies and still holds on to Dean’s hand as a source of comfort, her thumb rubbing soothing circles over his knuckles. Dean swallows hard and glances at Gabriel.

“I have to go there,” he says as his voice threatens to break. “I have to go see him.”

Gabriel holds up a finger at him, telling him to wait. “Missouri… do you know what Sam is doing at the cemetery?” He asks.

“Yes,” Missouri nods and her eyes grow glossy. “He has at least twenty of us and…” she stops abruptly and squeezes Dean’s hand hard “Castiel.”

Dean physically feels sick. His head spins and his palms get damp. He pulls out of Missouri’s grasp. A lump lodges itself in the back of his throat and he has the need to upchuck. Tears prick the back of his eyes and his wings tremble. His legs finally give way and before he knows it he’s on all fours with confusion, anger and good ole fear snuggling up close to him. Gabriel kneels beside him, one of his magnificent wings covering Dean as if to shelter him.

It’s something Castiel would have done.

He wants those worn and almost bedraggled-looking— but so incredibly soft— charcoal feathers pressing against him in embrace. It had only been a few hours and now Castiel, his dear C _as_ , was gone. Then a horrible thought stands out in his racing mind.

“Is he dead?” Dean demands, fingers curling against the hard concrete. He doesn’t dare to look up into Missouri’s weathered face and see hints of the news. His guts twist this way and that way like someone has plunged their hand into his intestines and are playing with them. The arching top of Gabriel’s wing brushes against his neck gaining the ex-human’s attention.

“You two are _soul bonded_ , Dean-o. You would know if he was dead or not…” Gabriel tells him.

Dean’s arms wobble. “How? How can I tell?” He asks desperately.

“Trust your instincts,” Gabriel begins to tell him.

Dean snorts, interrupting Gabriel, then says bitterly,  “My instincts have been fucking haywire ever since I sprouted these godforsaken chicken wings.”

“Close your eyes,” Gabriel continues, not missing a beat.

The younger angel hesitates for a second longer before his eyelids flutter shut. Unease swirls in his stomach. His thoughts drift toward the soul bond and how the mark on his shoulder tingles pleasantly when he or Castiel touches it. Dean’s brows are drawn together in concentration trying to find a trace of Castiel. He tries to send out a tentative burst of emotion mostly comprised of concern and can actually feel it separate from itself and travel down what he could only describe as a link. But it stops short, almost blocked. Dean opens his eyes and cranes his neck to look at Gabriel. He shakes his head.

“I got nothing,” he tells him not knowing how to feel about the fact that he can’t hear or feel Castiel. He grows cold. “Does that mean… he’s...?”

The look on Gabriel’s face says it all.

“When I last saw him, he wasn’t,” Missouri chimes in.  “I had been with them, you see. I saw that they were looking around for food and joined them. Then Castiel suddenly told us to run but then something pinned him to the ground…”

Dean pushes himself slowly back on to his haunches. His hand comes up to cover his eyes as he imagines the scene that Missouri describes. Of course Castiel would warn the others first before looking out for himself.

“He dropped this,” he hears her say and he reluctantly peeked through his fingers to see what ‘this’ was.

His heart drops into his stomach. In the psychic’s hand is a weapon Dean is all too familiar with: an angel blade. Gabriel lifts his wing off of Dean and shivers at the loss of warmth. The archangel stands and takes the blade from Missouri. He runs his fingers along it and Dean sees the rise and fall of Gabriel’s shoulders as he sighs heavily. Gabriel turns to Dean and holds out the blade to the brown-winged angel. Green eyes look at the blade, then up at the archangel. He shakes his head minutely.

“I can’t,” he chokes out.

“What happened to being always ready to kick some ass?” Gabriel waves Castiel’s angel blade at Dean. “Come on, Winchester!”

Dean quickly runs a hand through his hair, insides filled with hurt, and slowly rises to his feet. Gabriel flips the blade expertly so that its hilt presents itself to Dean. The ex-human accepts it with a single nod. Gabriel puts his hands on his hips, pleased.

“There’s one more thing,” Missouri pipes up. Her hands are visibly trembling. “Sam saw me and he knew who I was. I tried to get a read on him but I was blocked. I recognized it. It’s the same energy coming from this horrible winter.”

Gabriel’s jaw works. “Lucifer.”

“So,” Dean clears his throat. “So Sam actually saw you?”  
“He told me to pass on the message that if Gabriel wouldn’t show his face by midnight that he would slaughter all of his ‘pets’,” she quotes with bitterness in her tone. Her brown eyes fix imploringly on the archangel.

“That is a good question, Gabriel,” she says out of the blue. “However I’m afraid I have no answer to it.”

Dean uses his free hand to scratch the back of his head. “What’s a good question?”

Missouri smiles. “Gabriel was just thinking: ‘Why weren’t you mentioned’?”

“Hang on—you can read his thoughts?” Dean asks, impressed.

“Only cause’ I let her,” Gabriel says, piqued. “And that’s not the point, Sam mustn’t know you’re up and about with a brand new set of wings.”

“Oh,” Dean straightens. “I never thought of that.”

Gabriel claps his hands together. “This is great! We’ll have the element of surprise on our hands,” he wiggles his fingers in Dean’s directions, “and with me backing you up we can storm the castle and rescue my peeps and your prince.”

“Isn’t the princess the one who is meant to be rescued?” Dean asks as he tucks Castiel’s angel blade into the safety of his jacket.

Gabriel waves the comment away. “Only in fairy tales. Besides, in you guys’ relationship—I’m pretty sure I know who’s the—”

Missouri interrupts, “I’m sure you boys haven’t thought about this but Sam is the one who killed Michael.”

Gabriel’s wings slump. As do Dean’s.

The archangel rubs at his chin. His lips pucker as deep concentration takes over him. His foot begins to tap. Dean too tries to think of resolutions. Perhaps if he just talked to Sam? But the guy seemed to be far from the ‘peaceful negotiation’ stages. Go in guns blazing was the usual gig when it came to a situation the Winchesters faced. Dean knew that the stakes were too high for him and Gabriel to risk it. Maybe a distraction could work. Dean played with the idea. The hostages could run for it with Castiel’s help (if he wasn’t too hurt, of course) and then he could have the big happy family reunion with his little brother. That wouldn’t be awkward. Not at all. 

As soon as he opens his mouth the voice his suggestion, Missouri holds up her hand and silences him with: “Stupid idea.”

Dean pouts.

“Gabriel on the other hand,” she inclines her head, “I think we could have a chance with your plan.”

The archangel cracks his knuckles, bottom lip caught in his front teeth. Dean’s dying to ask but he senses that Gabriel is still thinking it through. After a moment the golden-winged angel nods and swallows hard.

“What is it?” Dean almost bursts with the need to know.

“I…” Gabriel breaks off with a chuckle. “I would like to donate my grace,” he puts a hand to his chest then pulls it away, palm empty but facing upwards and held out to Dean like a gesture of offering, “to you.”

Dean’s eyes widen. “What?! No! Not a good idea.”

“If you accept it—willingly—then everything will be fine. You’ll be perfectly okay.” Gabriel tells him.

“But I already have grace!” Dean splutters. “Michael’s grace.”

“Which has been slowly but surely disagreeing with, which I’m sure even a monkey-brained douche bag like have noticed,” Gabriel snaps.

“Hey!” Dean exclaims, indignant. “You—you’re a douche bag!”

Gabriel exhales sharply. “I didn’t want to do this but it looks like I’ll have to.” He steps forward and jabs two fingers against Dean’s forehead before the ex-human could ask what the hell was going on. Then Castiel’s voice is echoing through his thoughts.

 

_‘LOOK OUT! ABOVE!’_

_Falling._

_He can see himself struggling against blankets and Castiel is shaking him with his blue eyes wide and pupils blown with shock and concern. His back arches and he wails worse than an upset newborn._

_Waking._

_“Uh, if you don’t mind me asking— where the hell are we?”_

_Darkness._

_Castiel cradles Dean in his arms and wings. “What’s wrong with him?”_

_“It must be Michael’s grace reacting with him,” Gabriel says uncharacteristically serious. “You can see it’s disagreeing with his body and mind: the loss of memory, hot and cold flushes…”_

_“The sudden bursts of power at the fight must have affected him,” Castiel says breathlessly. “And then there was the couple of days before he tore a demon apart.”_

_“It looks like he can’t decide whether to accept the grace or not,” Gabriel’s hand hovers over Dean’s abdomen. “The excessive usage of it must open the door a little and then his human side comes back and slams into it.”_

_“What can I do?” Castiel asks._

_“You?” Gabriel shrugs. “Nothing. Make him comfortable. Rub his feet. I don’t know. Me on the other hand… I’ll put the memories back in so he won’t be so befuddled. When he wakes up he’ll remember everything.”_

 

 

Dean returns to reality stumbling backwards with a rasping gasp. Gabriel grabs on to his sleeve and holds him.

“I lied,” Gabriel says simply. “I told Cas you’d remember everything but I took out what bits your weren’t awake for. It’s an angel thing. We can perceive even while we’re unconscious.”

Dean rests his hands on his knees as his lungs claw for air. “W-Why?” He coughs. “Why lie to Cas?”

“I didn’t want him to worry,” Gabriel says. He looks truly contrite as he continues, “Your condition is much worse than I let on. I was afraid your memories could trigger another one of your crazy moments.”

“I’m dying?” Dean asks as his pulse rate multiplies.

“You’re pulling yourself apart,” Gabriel explains. “Yeah. Dying.”

Dean straightens and shrugs off Gabriel’s hand. He draws in a few more breaths and tries to ignore the soul-piercing gaze from Missouri. The words repeat in his head like a mantra and he cannot stop it no matter how hard he tries to think of something else. He thought that being an angel made him immortal but really how could a human ever be that? It was destroying him from the inside.

“Missouri, give us a moment, would you?” Gabriel asks softly and he pats the psychic’s shoulder as she walks away after a concerned glance at Dean. Dean nods at her in acknowledgement.

“Please, Dean,” Gabriel murmurs. “Take my grace. With Michael’s powers and mine combined… You can be healed and you’ll have one hell of chance against Lucifer. Finish all of this, Dean.”

Dean wrings his hands together. Stress feels as if it’s pulsing off of him in thick waves. He meets Gabriel’s eyes.

“How’s this gonna work?”

“That a yes?”

“What—? Yes. It’s a yes.”

Gabriel grins and opens his mouth to say something but Dean quickly cuts in.

“What about you? If I take a _ll_ of your grace then what’ll happen to you? Will you…?” The unfinished question spoke for itself.

“Who cares? Let’s do this and take this mother down!” Gabriel simply waggles his eyebrows.

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ooh, getting close to an ending, aren't we? 
> 
> Got tumblr? Me too! Find me here: [ http://heavenlystellar.tumblr.com ](http://heavenlystellar.tumblr.com)


	21. Pure Starlight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Last time...
> 
> Gabriel grins and opens his mouth to say something but Dean quickly cuts in.  
> “What about you? If I take all of your grace then what’ll happen to you? Will you…?” The unfinished question spoke for itself.  
> “Who cares? Let’s do this and take this mother down!” Gabriel simply waggles his eyebrows.

_It was a beautiful day._

_There were two lovers holding hands and running across a field of long grass. It was prickly and itchy but both of them couldn’t care less. One of them threw their head back and let out a long laugh, a lovely heartwarming sound. The other flushes, but looks pleased, with fondness shining in their eyes. They keep on running. The sun was warm on their skin and the sweet smell of the nature around them was soothing. It was so peaceful. The two lovers try to overtake each other but end up tripping, with one falling on top of the other. There’s a squeezing embrace, an exchange of kisses and quiet promises whispered amongst the long blades of grass._

_It was more than a beautiful day. It was a perfect moment in time. Castiel breathes in deep and basks in the feel of the rise and fall of Dean’s chest underneath him._

_“Cas?” Dean’s voice rumbles and vibrates against the side of Castiel’s head._

_“Dean,” Castiel replies, voice gravelly and deep, feeling drowsy and completely whole._

_Dean laughs suddenly and there’s a hand in Castiel’s hair, massaging and scratching. “Don’t fall asleep on me now, buddy!”_

_Castiel hums and forces his eyelids open, he shifts in Dean’s arms and props his chin against his lover’s shoulder. “What is it?”_

_“Look,” Dean is holding a daisy in his fingers. Castiel puts his hand around Dean’s and admires the sunny centre of the flower and its pearly white petals._

_“Bellis perennis,” Castiel says and pulls his hand away from Dean’s._

_Dean brow furrows and he goes, “Huh?”_

_“It’s Latin name,” Castiel supplies._

_Dean’s silent for a moment before he chuckles, shaking his head and affectionately calls Castiel, “Dork.”_

_Castiel kisses Dean on the jaw and gently nuzzles the side of his neck. Dean presses a kiss on top of Castiel’s head and releases a sigh. He fiddles with the flower. Castiel senses something hesitant from Dean and places a hand on his solid chest._

_“Is something wrong?”_

_Dean bites the bottom of his lip and suddenly he sits up along with Castiel. The green-eyed smiles tightly. “Here, wanna see something humans do?”_

_“Okay,” Castiel sits cross-legged and leans forward._

_“It’s called ‘he loves me, he loves me not’,” Dean tells him. “And it goes like this.”_

_Castiel watches, immediately intrigued when Dean mentioned the word ‘love’. Dean plucks one of the petals off of the flower._

_“He loves me,” Dean says glancing up at Castiel. Then he takes another. “He loves me not.”_

_Castiel frowns. “Dean—”_

_“He loves me,” Dean repeats and plucks off another petal. “He loves me not.” Another. “He loves me… He loves me not…” The cycle continues, each delicate white petal collecting on the ground as Dean drops them._

_Then Dean reaches the last petal with a shaky, “He loves me not.”_

_His mossy green eyes instantly fill with tears and begin to track down his freckled cheeks. Shocked by the sudden tears, Castiel leaps forward and places his arm around Dean._

_“Dean you can’t use a flower to justify our…”_

_“Get away from me!” Dean shouts, voice wet and tone harsh. He shoves Castiel away. “How could you do this to me, Cas? I HATE YOU!”_

_Castiel is frozen, stunned by the onslaught of sobs that rack Dean’s body making the bigger man seem fragile and vulnerable. What’s worse is Castiel can’t seem to talk. His jaw feels locked and his tongue feels two sizes too big in his mouth. There’s a ball in his throat and he can’t utter a single word around it. He wants to touch Dean, to comfort him._

_To tell him that he does love him._

_More than anything in this world. But he can’t move. He’s sinking further and further into the ground as if it’s swallowing him up. Dean turns around and his bloodshot eyes meet Castiel’s. His tears stop and his face goes white._

_“CAS!” He surges forward and tries to take a hold of Castiel’s hand but he’s grappling uselessly at an invisible force. “NO! Please! I didn’t mean it! I don’t hate you, I promise. Don’t leave me! You promised you’d stay with me! Protect me and care for me! PLEASE, CAS! NO! STOP!”_

_Dean’s terrified screams are the last thing Castiel hears and his grief-stricken face is imprinted in the back of his eyelids._

It’s one thing to wake up from a nightmare.

It’s a whole other story when you come back to reality only to find that you’re in an even worse scenario. What Castiel learns quickly is that he can barely move. He tugs on the thick metal cuffs around his wrists. It’s a futile attempt as carved into them are sigils rendering him powerless. His grace writhes inside him, unhappy at the restraints on his wrists, ankles and neck. Castiel’s neck itches. His wings struggle to flap under jingling ropes of chain. Castiel goes still and lets out a hiss— more irritated rather than in pain. And once it is completely quiet, he hears it: footsteps. He can’t see a thing in this room he’s in. Castiel tries to sense the new presence. Or were they always there?

“I must say that you are not what I expected from Heaven’s best and brightest,” says a voice from behind.

Castiel recognizes the voice immediately from that night he had killed Samandriel. The voice in his head that tempted him, but failed.

Castiel spits it out, “Lucifer.”

“Castiel, right?”

“Where am I?” Castiel demands. “What have you done to the humans?”

“I wouldn’t worry about the humans,” Lucifer replies. “You’re in a room especially made for guests such like yourself. A room part of a place where I spend most of my time because you see, I don’t go out much.”

“Why is that?” Castiel squints and tries to see through the inky blackness but for some reason can’t.

Lucifer makes a noncommittal noise. “Call me shy. A little lazy, I must admit. I make Sammy do all the work. Why waste my energy when I have a tick-tick-ticking nuclear bomb to do all the heavy lifting? He’s just clearing the way for little ole me.”

“You’re insane,” the black-winged angel says spitefully.

He can hear a soft breath of air releasing from the Devil’s lips. Although Castiel cannot see the other’s face, he has a feeling that Satan is smiling.

“I had a little look-see in your grapefruit,” Lucifer says. Castiel jolts in his place as there are suddenly hands touching him on the forehead. Castiel growls out curses in Enochian and tries to pull away from the touch of the famed sibling who was cast from Heaven.

Lucifer pats Castiel’s cheek and the footsteps recede. “Your fear is not that you won’t be loved, but that you won’t love.”

Castiel keeps his face passive and closes his eyes (not that he could see with them open anyways) trying to place his mind elsewhere. But Lucifer keeps talking and Castiel keeps getting drawn back to the poisoned words.

“You’ve never experienced love out of family and you don’t want to let that one special person down or that you’ll be forced to abandon them without a choice… Well I’m sorry to say this, but your fear has come true because here you are. With me.”

“You don’t sound sorry,” Castiel says.

Lucifer’s soft footsteps halt. “What a peculiar thing you are. Oh, my Prince is just going to eat you up.”

Castiel’s jaw works. He’d seen a glimpse of the thing that had been Dean’s brother and he can’t help the trickle of fear that tingles down in his spine. The Prince was exactly how Dean had described to Castiel after he and Anael had shared some of her memory. Castiel flinches harshly as the room suddenly fills with light. Involuntarily his eyes squeeze shut. When he adjusts to the brightness, there is the Devil standing beside Castiel.

“You’re a lucky one. I put on a show for my followers but what you’re seeing is my true face, Castiel,” Lucifer tells him.

Castiel had heard the stories. As a younger angel had gossiped with his fellow siblings about how far their older sibling had fallen. But nothing could have prepared him for the ghastly sight. The creator of demons was the most twisted and the most deformed out of them all. Lucifer had been warped so out of shape he was near unrecognizable from how Castiel remembered him. Castiel had considered that he had at least a small amount of courage inside of him. But as he gazes on the Devil’s face that courage vanishes in a second.

“What h-happened to you wings?” Castiel feels sick.

“Michael happened,” Lucifer says simply. The skeletal remains shift and creak. Castiel turns his face away, unable to look any longer. Then the light flickers. Castiel looks up at the light bulb above him. It splutters in effort to stay on.

“That’s my cue to leave,” Lucifer says and begins to turn. Then he spins back around, making Castiel jump in surprise. “Ooh! Almost forgot.”

Then his gnarled hand covers Castiel’s mouth. Warmth spreads from where his hand rests then a burst of pain comes from his neck. Castiel’s scream muffles but then the noise disappears. He feels skin ripping. Blood dribbles past his ear and down the front of his jacket.

“Don’t worry,” Lucifer tells him. “You won’t die from these wounds. It’s just for show.”

Lucifer removes his hand; Castiel opens his mouth only to find the words die on the tip of his tongue. His neck throbs in pain. Confused and afraid, he wants to scream in outrage. No noise escapes. Lucifer clicks his fingers and Castiel’s lips seal shut. Then the Devil clicks again and there’s the noise of something dropping into a bucket.

“Fake vocal chords from you for one angry little Sammy,” Lucifer says with a wide smile. “I told the dearest that big bro Dean is dead. Would you mind keeping that a secret?”

Castiel fumes silently.

“Thanks a bunch. Ah. Here he comes now. Just in time to meet the angel who murdered his brother under the orders of one now very dead archangel.”

Castiel makes one last effort to break free and he wriggles against his bonds like a fish out of water. His eyes glow blue in anger as he desperately moves about, wanting to throttle Satan. He had never wanted to kill someone so badly in his entire existence. The door swings open and the bulb above Castiel implodes with a smash of glass and a flash of sparks. The black-winged angel jerks his face away and shuts his eyes as pieces of glass rain down upon him.

“Hello Castiel,” what had once been Sam Winchester greets.

For a brief moment Castiel is glad that Lucifer had taken away his voice. Because at that moment he would have been whimpering from the anxiety pulsing through his body after seeing Lucifer’s true face and now seeing poor Sam. This was not the kind boy who had participated but purposefully misfired in the shooting of the angels all those days ago in the woods. This was not human. This was Lucifer’s Prince. Castiel clenched his fists to stop his hands from shaking. He was going to die.

“I had a little taste of his vocal chords,” Lucifer says to Sam and places his hand on his Prince’s shoulder. “I couldn’t help myself.”

“It’s fine,” Sam says coolly. “I still have the rest of him.”

Lucifer leans inwards as if to whisper into Sam’s ear but Castiel can hear him perfectly well. Castiel shudders inwardly. He has to make sure that no emotion can be pinpointed if he is going to be tortured. Castiel feels his heart in his throat and his stomach at his feet.

“For your brother,” Lucifer had said to Sam before he left with the door screeching on its hinges and slamming behind him.

Castiel swallows uneasily as he watches Sam draw out an angel blade from inside his dove grey suit jacket. His attire would have been immaculate if not for the splatter of blood dotting the front of his dress shirt. Castiel doesn’t realize how shallow his breathing has gotten until the tip of the cold knife scrapes against his clothed chest. Sam’s calm façade crumbles away.

“You—” he snarls, baring his teeth and furrowing his brow.

Castiel’s breathing stops as his attention is drawn to the angel blade plunging past the two layers of clothing and into his flesh. He throws his head back and screams silently, toes and finger curling. Sam abruptly moves the knife and it tears through Castiel. Blood spews from Castiel’s chest like a fountain. White light escapes the laceration— his grace shines through and it works double time trying to heal but it’s not working. He becomes lightheaded and his head spins. Sam is howling at him like a wild animal with rivulets of tears streaming down his face. Castiel hears the words: Dean-brother-murdered-your-fault-kill-you-dead-die-filth-angel over and over again. But after a while his sense of hearing doesn’t matter any more.

Castiel gets stabbed in the thigh. Sam rips off Castiel’s jacket and shirt to reach the skin better. It’s bone-chillingly cold in the room. A long slice through his forearm, the red line follows his veins. A cut at his face— directly below his right ear. His left pinky toe lies sawed off, left on the ground. Above him he saw black feathers, his feathers, sail through the air.

Then all of a sudden, Castiel feels numb. He embraces it and slowly slips away. His body is heavy worn, bloodied and bruised. Castiel feels unbelievably tired and wants to sleep. His eyelids droop but there’s something blindingly annoying glaring into the corner of his eye.

Castiel can hear his own heartbeat.

A nice, slow rhythm to rock him to the land of dreams. _Thump-thump. Thump-thump._

He feels tingly all over. He can’t see Sam anymore. _What is that light?_ He wonders vaguely. Castiel’s head slumps to the side and he wonders if he’s gone back to Heaven or if he’s dreaming or if he’s where angels go when they die. He figures he doesn’t really give a damn.

Castiel drops away into darkness after he sees the source of the light: wings of pure starlight shining behind the silhouette of Dean Winchester.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Love me some feedback ;)


	22. Iscariot, You Fool

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Last time...
> 
> Castiel drops away into darkness after he sees the source of the light: wings of pure starlight shining behind the silhouette of Dean Winchester.

Castiel had always seemed larger than life to Dean.

But that was back then when Dean Winchester was a scared little human who was more worried about his father’s approval than of what he wanted to gain from the short lifespan he had. In a way Dean had to thank the angels for what they had done to him. He had to thank the demons. How ironic is that?

Castiel looks small.

When Dean looks over his younger brother’s shoulder it’s like he’s seeing a fragile little bird with a broken wing or neck. The bond roars back to life as soon as Dean steps into the chamber he had killed legions of demons to get to. The demons had been wisps of black smoke that Dean simply blew away. Castiel is clinging to life by a thread. Dean raises his hand and Sam flinches harshly. A wave of Dean’s grace rolls over toward his lover and sews the wounds. The once weak heartbeat he hears through the link strengthens.

“Dean?” Sam breaks Dean’s concentration on Castiel.

At first Dean can’t meet Sam’s face. He knows that the state Castiel was in was Sam’s doing. The angel blade clatters against the dank ground. Dean can see—smell— the blood of Castiel on it. His eyes flick to the right, really looking for the first time at his younger brother since the day the demons came and took him away. He looks so painstakingly the same as he did, if you cut out the shorter bangs and the slight bags under his hazel eyes. Sam is looking at him with popping eyes and a gaping mouth. Dean has trouble deciphering between Sam and the mutilated soul that runs on fumes inside of him.

“Hiya Sammy,” Dean opts for a gentle voice. He can’t get angry. Not yet. He needs to know the full story on Sam’s side and then the consequences will come.

“I,” Sam stammers breathlessly, looking young and scared. “I thought you were dead. You’re… an archangel?”

“Yes,” Dean replies. He holds Castiel’s angel blade behind his back. Dean uses his free hand and flicks his wrist. The door closes and locks with a gut-twisting shriek of rusty hinges.

“How are you an angel?” Sam looks at him with awe. His face is aglow with the light coming off of Dean’s wings.

“I got myself some grace. I had a lot of help from the angel you almost killed,” Dean tells him.

As if on cue, Castiel groans from the table behind Sam, slowly regaining consciousness. Dean feels a flicker of anger.

“I must be dreaming,” Sam says quietly. “You’re gone, Dean. You were gone…”

“So that’s your excuse for what you’ve done to Castiel?” He demands.

Sam looks confused then he growls like a feral dog. “Angels are evil,” he says immediately.

Then he glances at Dean’s wings and the youngest Winchester replaces the monster. Sam has that curious glint in his eyes. His lips twitch as if he’s dying to open his mouth and ask questions, like the nerd he is. Dean feels his resolve breaking. The fuming grace inside him calms and the light from his wings softened. Dean laughs wetly; he feels the agonizing grief build in his throat.

“What happened, Sam? What h-happened to your ‘angels are good’ campaign?” Dean asks.

“This can’t be real,” Sam says breathlessly. “He showed me them killing you.”

“I’m not dead,” Dean gestures to himself in a sweeping motion. “I’m right here, okay?”

“You were so powerless when it—” Sam’s eyes dart to the limp Castiel. “When Castiel snapped your neck with a click of his fingers…”

“What?” Dean laughs, taken by surprise. “Cas didn’t do anything to me. What are you talking about? Why don’t you tell me what happened to you?”

Sam doesn’t seem to hear him and covers his face with one of his large hands. His shoulders hunch forward. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry Dean. You were dead and— Oh, God. I’m sorry, Dean. I wanted my revenge for you.”

Dean remains still as a part of him wants to surge forward and embrace his brother, to tell him he’s forgiven and that he is there now to look after him just like old times. The new part of him holds him back. His grace keeps his feet planted on the ground and it whispers to him, warning him that Sam could be lying to him. That it could be a trap.

“Don’t change to subject,” Dean says without a tremor in his voice though inside he’s shaking with his warring emotions. “Tell me what happened to you when the demons attacked us.”

Sam took his hand away from his face, eyes tortured. “You don’t want to know, Dean.”

“Just give me the basics,” Dean encourages. “Come on, Sam.”

“What would you like me to say?” Sam says in a sardonic tone. “I ran away with the demons and we shared ghost stories around the Hellfire? There is nothing you could do or say to make this better.”

“I know,” Dean’s grip around the angel blade tightens. “Damn it, I’m sorry. Cas and I should have tried harder to find you.”

“Cas?” Sam repeats and turns to look at Castiel who had gone back under, even after a valiant attempt to come back to reality. It was better that way. This was one heck of a crappy reality. “So while I was here rotting in Hell you went gallivanting with the angel who killed you— or I thought killed you.”

“He saved me, Sam,” Dean says.

“Do you have any idea how much that sounds like Stockholm syndrome?” Sam asks.

Dean’s jaw clenches. “Don’t you dare,” he says around clenched teeth. His wings flare up and the expanse of incandescent feathers fills his side of the room. Sam winces and shades his eyes.

“Don’t you _ever_ say a word against Cas, do you hear me? Through all of this he was the one guy I could rely on. He could have treated me like shit for what I was—an angel abomination after what Michael, then the demon demons did to me—but instead he took care of me. Never willingly put me in harms way. He would do _whatever_ it took to make sure that I was safe,” he draws in a shaky breath and his eyes slide to his angel.

He walks over and places a hand on his hipbone and the soul bond mark comes to life, sending jolts of delight and pleasure through Dean. It feels as if his chest expands with the amount of love that's inside of him for Castiel.

“Cas is the only person who ever lived up to the standard and amount of… _love_ given to me since Mom,” Dean turns back to Sam. “So don’t ever talk about things that you’ll never understand.”

Sam waves a noncommittal hand. “It doesn’t matter,” his voice is hoarse and his eyes glassy, “the apocalypse is over and Lucifer has won—”

“I can’t let you keep destroying the world,” Dean tells him.

“Who said we were destroying? We’re rebuilding!” Sam’s voice heightens.

Dean scoffs disbelievingly. “Listen to yourself! Rebuilding? By killing thousands of humans? Of angels?”

“If that’s what it takes for peace,” Sam says gravely.

“That’s bullshit!” Dean snaps. “Are _those_ the lies that Satan’s been feeding you?”

“THEY’RE NOT LIES!” Sam explodes. “YOU’RE DEAD! YOU’RE NOT REAL! YOU MUST BE GABRIEL OR ANOTHER ARCHANGEL WHO IS USING MY BROTHER’S FACE! I’LL KILL YOU!”

The eldest Winchester is taken aback by an abrupt burst of vertigo and the sensation of something drilling into his temples. Dean held himself ramrod straight as the combination of Michael and Gabriel’s grace took the wheel and fought back against Sam. He lurches backward and his back slams into the table Castiel lies unconscious on. His hands find purchase on the ledge and he white knuckles it through the daggers of fire spearing through his head.

“SAM!” Dean cries out, gathering as much strength as he could and soon gains the upper hand, the grace inside him gushing out at Sam.

Lucifer’s Prince has his hand held out in front of him, palm pointing directly at Dean, fingers quivering. A cloud of wrongness clings to Sam and it stirs Dean’s grace up.

_Abomination_ , it screams.

_Evil monstrosity_ , it howls.

_KILL HIM_ , it demands.

Bit by bit Dean feels himself getting lost to the driving angelic instinct that tells him to cleanse, to purify. Panic dizzies him and Sam seizes the opportunity, delving into Dean’s head once again. Dean falls to his knees.

_No! No I won’t let him win. I can’t let him win!_

Pure determination and desperation winds him back up again and he is on his feet once again. This time mirroring Sam— one hand out and facing the opponent— as he gives it his everything to stop his brother. Then a new presence arrives and with it Sam stops. Dean slumps forward, glad for the break, his breathing ragged. Sam is in worse condition having beads of sweat pouring down his face. His hands strangely have become blackened, looking poisoned and inhuman. The door is open. A figure is just beyond the threshold and demons in their true forms leer at him from behind.

“Oh,” Lucifer says in a nonchalant tone. “Hello.”

Dean’s eyes travel over the melted flesh persistently sticking to a skull, the bloodshot red eyes. The angry red boils over the mutilated and torn skin. The smell of festering rot and pure smoldering evil emanates from the Devil. Intimidated, Dean straightens his shoulders and lifts the angel blade out in front of himself. The beloved silver weapon is the only thing protecting himself and Castiel against Sam, Lucifer and the whole of Hell’s creatures.

Who would have thought that in one of the cemeteries in Lawrence, there was this chamber which actually lead all the way into the Devil’s kingdom? It was of little consequence to Dean with the extra help from Gabriel he was able to breeze his way into the chamber. So many of its spawn had already died by Dean’s hand. When the demons peer at him from around their creator like veil of death, there seems to be an infinite number of them.

“You don’t have to afraid of me. Or of them,” Lucifer cocks his head to the side. “My children will only harm you if I allow it.”

“Go ahead then,” Dean grimaces. “Let ‘em come and get me you son of a bitch!”

“Why would I do that?” Lucifer asks with a simpering smile.

Sam sharply turns his head to face Lucifer. “What?” His eyes dart to Dean then back to Satan. “Why wouldn’t you? You can easily crush him.”

“Thanks for the vote of confidence, Sammy,” Dean grumbles.

Sam looks at him the way he used to look at monsters and demons, like Dean is the cockroach to squash with the heel of his boot.

“You’re not my brother,” Sam spits out. “You couldn’t be. He’s dead.”

“I’M RIGHT HERE, SAM!” Dean shouts, frustration and grief boiling over.

“Please, inside voices,” Lucifer coos. “Sam stop stirring up our guest.”

“Guest?” Sam and Dean ask incredulously at the same time.

Lucifer points to Dean’s fist and the weapon gripped tight in it. “You can put down that blade and you can join us. Castiel, too, is welcome.”

“You think I don’t know what you’re doing? Do you really think I don’t know what you are?” Dean’s voice grows rough and wavers with passion. “Look at what you did to my brother! So screw you— you ugly, evil, belly-to-the-ground supernatural piece of crap— and you know where you can shove your offer? Up. Your. Ass.”

“You’re leaving me no choice here,” Lucifer says.

Dean’s upper lip curls. “Bite me.”

And so, Hell takes its cue and so does the grace billowing inside of Dean’s chest. For a while it's a feverish sort of clawing at the bodies that spew into the compact chamber. They corner him and force him up on to the table where Castiel lies, oblivious and peaceful. Dean takes a protective stance around his sleeping angel; his wings are walls made of shining beams.

It’s an elaborate and a death-defying dance. Keeping the demons at bay is child’s play but he stumbles and is close to falling when the Devil and his brother took part. Before he knows it, his arms are heavy and weary. His quick slashes and clever swipes become lunges and thrusts with little or no finesse. Dean’s body is quickly tiring. He cries out in pain when something sinks its teeth into his forearm.

That’s when Castiel’s eyes open fully and Dean’s pinned under those blue eyes he has grown to adore. With a wave of Dean’s unhurt arm, the chains break and Castiel is free at last. His dark-winged angel is momentarily stunned as he takes it all in with increasingly bulging eyes. Dean stabs the demon in the pit of its empty eye socket, it dies instantly and his arm comes free.

“Cas!” Dean shouts, changing hands with the angel blade and reaching for Castiel. “GRAB MY HAND!”

Castiel takes it, brow furrowing with determination and then he’s on Dean kissing him like a man possessed.

Dean’s breath hitches and he has trouble remembering— well, everything. Their lips collide in a frenzied rapture of passion. Dean tilts his head to accommodate Castiel’s supple lips. Dean hums contentedly into the kiss when his angel’s hands come up to frame his face. It lasts too short and in a flurry of movement, they’re suddenly back-to-back. With Castiel fighting with his bare hands like the badass he is, Dean feels a choking kind of elation of finally not be alone in this god-forsaken place.

_‘Dean,’_ Castiel’s voice is suddenly in his head. ‘ _You look wonderful.’_

Dean laughs in spite of the blood bath happening right in front of his eyes, then again, when was his life ever normal?

_‘Thanks Cas, you don’t look half-bad yourself, considering,’_ Dean sends through their telepathic link that came with the soul bond package.

‘ _Dean! Blade!_ ’ Castiel shouts in his head.

Dean passes on the angel blade over his shoulder, Castiel takes it and swings it, performing a sweeping arch and slicing at least three demons’ throats in consecutive order. Dean snaps a demon’s neck and kicks one that attempts to grab at Castiel’s leg.

‘ _Cas—just for the record—I want to let you know that I think you look fucking hot like all the time,_ ’ Dean suddenly proclaims.

Dean feels amusement and the tingly warmth of being pleasantly surprised through the bond from Castiel’s side.

_‘Thank you,_ ’ Castiel replies. ‘ _And… just for the record… I wish to tell you that I—”_

The roof caves in and Castiel’s sentence is cut short.

 

 


	23. God Have Mercy On Our Souls

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Last time...
> 
> ‘Thank you,’ Castiel replies. ‘And… just for the record… I wish to tell you that I-'  
> The roof caves in and Castiel’s sentence is cut short.

Dean cries out his lover’s name and his wings immediately go around to shelter Castiel, he’s just in time too. Castiel’s wings close inwards and his arms dart around Dean’s midsection. He burrows his face into Dean’s torso and shuts his eyes tight. Dean uses his arms and head to the best of his ability to cover Castiel’s head while the rubble comes raining down on them. Even after it stops, they still cling to each other.

Then from up above they hear a faint crooning of, “Luuucy! I’m home!”

Dean coughs, lungs filled with dust and squints up at where Gabriel is being carried bridal style by a female angel. She has fair skin and golden curls, she wears a simple salmon gown and her gorgeous emerald green wings glint prettily in the sunlight. Flanking her are angels. Dozens of angels with feathers of all kinds of colours, making them look like part of a carnival. Dean shakes out his wings, ridding them of dust and rubble. He raises a hand in greeting.

“Gabriel!” He calls to the newly made human man.

Gabriel waves back from the angel woman’s arms. “Hey, Dean! This is Muriel. Muriel, that’s Dean.”

Muriel bows her head.

The other angels follow her cue, with the addition of their closed hand over the left of their chest. Dean recognizes the angel Balthazar with him and nods in acknowledgement. The other angel smiles back with a jovial laugh that rings through the now eerily quiet surroundings.

Dean startles when he receives a probing finger to the belly and retracts his arms away from the angel he had been sheltering. Castiel pokes his head out, face inches away from Dean’s looking rumpled and befuddled. His hair is blanketed with a layer of silt. He shakes his head, causing dust to shoot straight up Dean’s nostrils and making him sneeze.

Castiel blinks, still a little dumbfounded. “Hello, Dean.”

“Heya Cas,” Dean says right before he sneezes again.

A scream shatters the peace. The hulking slabs of broken rock and steel shift and out from the rubble, Lucifer rises with rage etched on his mutilated features. Castiel steps forward in front of Dean, even though now Dean would be the one qualified to do the protecting. The angels above screech in their true voices and it’s a onslaught of insults and curses.

Castiel joins them, hissing and growling. Lucifer sneers up at the newcomers, skeletal wings stretching to taunt his siblings. Then welling up also from the ground come the smoky figures of the demon hoards. They gather close to their master, waiting eagerly for the slaughter that’s to come.

“Help!” A feeble cry comes from a bit behind Lucifer.

Dean’s eyes are drawn to an arm he knows well sticking out of the ruins— it’s Sam. Castiel shifts to stand close and beside Dean, a hand coming up to his shoulder. Dean stares pleadingly at that beautiful face smeared with blood and dirt. Castiel’s eyes are blue flames—haunting and knowing—Dean can see the warning in them.

His angel shakes his head once, no. Don’t do it, Castiel tells him through his stiff body language.  

“I can’t just leave him there,” Dean whispers brokenly.

“Isn’t this a grand family reunion?” Lucifer is shouting to the angels and human Gabriel. Their eyes and weapons are trained on him and the demons that screech and cackle at them.

“Dean,” Castiel’s voice is grounding. “He’s not your brother anymore. You know this,” he stabs a finger at Dean’s chest.

“Lucifer!” Sam’s hoarse voice croaks out, his hand twitching from where it sticks out.

“That’s not your name he is calling,” Castiel leans in close, one wing as dark as a moonless night encloses around Dean’s back. Dean rests heavily against Castiel, head in his hands. “Lucifer’s twisted him in so many ways… He’s gone.”

A single tear leaks out from the corner of Dean’s eye. “Damn it, I know.”

Castiel holds him close.

“I know,” Dean chokes out.

“You’re a great big bag of dicks!” Gabriel shouts, red in the face, at Lucifer.

“Hello! Anybody?” Sam is yelling. “Lucifer?”

“Gabriel, Gabriel!” Lucifer waggles his finger.

“LUCIFER!” Sam screams.

“Oh, _shut up_ , Sam!” Lucifer snaps his fingers and the sickening crack of bones echoes through the ruins.

And with that, Dean’s younger brother is gone for good.

The world drops away as he remembers his short legs running as fast as they could, heart in his throat and baby Sammy in his arms. The puppy-eyes whenever they got into the ‘who gets the last of the Lucky Charms’ argument. That Fourth of July and the dark field lit up with their own firework show.

That night Sam turned his back on Dad and on hunting and had been the man Dean could never aim to be. Jess on the ceiling. Their adventures together all the way till’ Chicago when the invasion of angels happened. Sam had been so understanding and kind. The day in the forest, it was just Sam and him and the angel they’d dubbed ‘Raven’. The black smoke that suffocated him, and when it cleared, Sam was gone.

Sam was gone.

Sam was gone.

It had been the two of them in a lonely world; always together and fighting the good fight.

Lucifer’s dead eyes are on Dean and its only then that he realizes that he’s screaming. He vaults off of the ground with his wings snapping to the full extent. The demons miss him by a hairbreadth. Castiel is also screaming. The handprint on Dean’s shoulder burns white-hot.

The Devil grins with his rotting teeth.

Dean wants to wipe it off that rotting face by cutting off that evil, smug, son of a bitch’s head off. His hands are inches away from Lucifer’s neck when the Devil produces a coiled and ebony-black knife from seemingly nowhere. It sinks it into the bulge of where wing meets the flesh on Dean’s back. Dean tumbles into Lucifer, eyes round in shock. He hears the war cries of the angels as they swoop down and take on the demons.

Then Dean’s on the ground and the blade of the knife erupts out of his chest bring blood and fluid with it.

His grace splutters.

Dean’s gasps for breath are grating and shallow. Darkness slowly washes over him. Then the softest hands are stroking his face and the world floods back into view. Baby blues have an inundation of tears, dribbling uncontrollably down his grimy cheeks. Dean vaguely notices four or five angels that make a protective circle around him and Castiel, preoccupied by the demons that threaten to spill past and drown them.

“Dean— Dean— No, please—” Castiel lifts Dean up, his body screaming in protest at the pain jolting through him. His angel yanks the knife out and drops it like it burns him. He cradles Dean in his wing and arm, a hand over the broken skin.

“You fool,” Castiel cries, voice stuttering. “You’re not l-leaving me so s-soon.”

“Cas,” Dean whimpers, chest shuddering and eyes large and frightened.

Something twinges in his chest and his face screws up in pain. His throat fills up with hot liquid and its spilling from his lips, red and thick.

“DEAN!” Castiel bawls and he presses his hand harder into Dean’s chest, light escaping from underneath it. The bond flutters like a butterfly trying to escape, evading Dean’s reach every time he tries to reach for it.

“It’s okay. It’s okay,” Castiel babbles. “We’re going to be fine, Dean. We’ll live happy lives after this. We’ll h-have a nest of our own like before. Maybe even fledglings, if you w-want. Anything you want, I’ll give you it. I’ll give you anything…”

The blue-eyed angel takes a deep breath before he says quietly, “I love you, Dean.”

Dean strains to look into Castiel’s eyes. He opens his mouth and he chokes on his own blood. Castiel lifts him up, sobs catching deep in his throat. The idea slides into his mind like a final piece of a puzzle and in Dean’s mind holds on to the tether of the soul bond link and tugs at it. Castiel’s forehead touches his. Dean’s voice whispers repeatedly in Castiel’s head.

_‘I love you. I love you. I love you.’_

Then Dean’s wings suddenly feel lighter, numbing quickly. Panic flashes over his face and Castiel both sees and senses it at the same time. Dean’s beautiful starlight wings are turning to ash. He watches the flakes dance with the wind.

It’s when Dean has mere seconds from being swept away that Castiel lets out an anguish-filled cry and the final of his grace pours from him into Dean.

The world abruptly goes into focus and Dean gulps in lungful after lungful of air. Castiel goes limp and slumps over Dean. He’s heavy and his skin no longer has that ethereal glow to it. Dean watches on in horror and fascination as the inky black wings turn into dust and are carried off by the breeze. Those wings had held him, had carried him, had flown with him, and had kept him warm through Lucifer’s winter.

Lucifer.

Dean grabs the knife that had almost killed him. He gently lays Castiel weary and now human body to the ground and takes his angel blade from him. The angel—no, man—is compliant to his hands. His chest still burns, but he can’t bring himself to look at it. He tries to ignore the jolts of pain coursing through him as he rolls and gets on to his knees. It was a small feat but Dean finds himself panting with the exertion.

“Help me,” Dean calls out in a rough voice in the general direction of the angels who obstinately continue to hold the demon hoards away from him and his Castiel. An angel he doesn’t know—a male with dark long hair and doe eyes— hears him and rushes to his side.

“Dean Winchester,” the angel crouches, eyes darting back and forth between Dean and Castiel. “What can I do?”

“I’m gonna kill Lucifer,” Dean tells him. “You gotta help me get to him. I can’t—”

“I understand,” the angel nods once and takes Dean into his burly arms. His wings are brown, but not russet like Dean, more mahogany. The angel’s wings carry them up and they fly over the demons. They hiss and squeal, jumping up and trying to grab at their ankles. Dean spares a glance behind the helpful angel and sees Gabriel and Muriel at Castiel’s air.

He turns back to his target and clutches the two knives tight, his aim true. Lucifer has his hands around another angel’s throat; his back is to Dean and his carrier. Each second they get closer, the tighter the pressure in his stomach becomes and it’s not too long before they’re right where they need to be.

“ _Die, you bastard!_ ” Dean rams the weapons straight through Lucifer’s back.

The angel that Lucifer had been strangling is sharply dropped to the ground. His arms are flung wide, his head thrown back.

Then the Devil collapses.

And that’s it.

The noises of the battle go mute, and then following, are the sounds of the death of demons. Dean breathes heavily through his mouth and whispers a final request of the angel who helped him.

“Take me to Cas,” he pleads right before his eyes roll back into his head.

The fumes he’d been running on are long gone and he wanders off into the world of dreams, which will soon be the reality he lives in.

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Soon to come is Chapter 24 and the Epilogue! :) Love me some feedback, you lovelies. 
> 
> Come say hello on [ tumblr! ](http://heavenlystellar.tumblr.com/)


	24. And In The End

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Last time...
> 
> “Take me to Cas,” he pleads right before his eyes roll back into his head.  
> The fumes he’d been running on are long gone and he wanders off into the world of dreams, which will soon be the reality he lives in.

As Dean came around, details of where he is and whom he is with slowly reveal themselves as the edges of his eyesight loose the blurriness. The moment his eyes flicker open, light pours into his vision and blinds him. So Dean squints until the beams of sunshine don’t seem like they’re on a supernova level. He realizes quickly that he’s clearly not where he was when last he was conscious.

He’s in a bedroom—simple and small—with the king-sized bed he lays on, the bedside table next to him, a set of drawers and a cupboard placed in one of the corners in the room. Immediately after that he recognizes that his wings are no longer attached to him. Dean would be lying if he said he didn’t feel an aching sort of loss. After all, it was like he lost either his legs or both arms.

It was numbing and his back felt whole and smooth but broken and wrong. Then again, flying had only been fun with Castiel anyways and if the angel was human now… Dean snuggles closer to the warm body pressing up against him with happiness bubbling inside. His nose buries in the nest of dark chocolate hair resting in the crook of his arm. Castiel. Dean uses every bit of strength to use the arm he had somehow wrapped around Castiel when he was out to pull the dark-haired man closer.

Man. Yeah, that’s right. Castiel's a human now, right?

Castiel’s hair is rumpled and his sleeping face is smooth of the usual creases and crinkles. His cheeks have a light pink tinge to them and his lips are slightly parted as he breathes deep and easy. It’s the loveliest thing Dean has ever set eyes on.

“Hey there Dean-o,” a voice from the door startles him.

“Gabriel,” Dean smiles wide and wishes he could get up and hug the odd little man who willingly clipped his wings so Dean could win the war for them.

His body convulses suddenly as he tries to sit up—he collapses back on to the bed— and his heart twinges painfully in his chest. Dean’s lungs burn as he waits for whatever the hell _this_ is to pass. In one hand he fists the comforter he’s under, twisting and slipping in his grasp. Then it’s gone as quick as it came. Gabriel looks at him sympathetically from the door. Once Dean’s breathing evens out, he lets his body relax.

Castiel mumbles unintelligibly and throws a leg over Dean’s lower waist.

“W-What was that?” Dean demands Gabriel breathlessly as he slides a hand over Castiel’s thigh from above the covers.

“A side effect,” Gabriel says. “You’ve had a few fits while you were out and we can’t do anything about it. You’ll have to live with it.”

“Better than being dead,” Dean says.

Gabriel nods. “Lucifer’s knife really did a number on you. Little Cassie used up all his juice to repair the damage.”

“You mean his grace is…” Dean’s eyes grow round as the realization hits him like an anvil from the sky. Castiel used all his grace in a desperate attempt to heal Dean and now he has to live with the consequence of being a mortal. Dean feels a pang of guilt.

“U-huh, it’s kaput,” Gabriel tells him. “Oh by the way, so is Michael’s grace. I had Muriel do a check up on you after it all and she said that it’d burned out.”

Dean’s tongue flicks out to wet his chapped lips. His gaze flicks away from Gabriel. “I suppose an apology is in order, then.”

Gabriel makes a noise of confusion. “Say what?”

“I-I’m sorry Gabe… about your grace…” Dean apologizes.

Gabriel suddenly laughs. “Oh! No, man, you’re still partly an angel. Not really. Well it doesn’t matter. Don’t you worry your messed up little head. My grace is fine. It’s still in you—which sounds all kinds of wrong, you grace slut—but it’s a-okay even after the whole ordeal.”

Dean suddenly grows tense and he searches Gabriel’s face for answers. “Lucifer is _really_ dead, right?” he asks hopefully.

“Yup!” Gabriel says cheerfully all the way into the room with a bright grin on his face and a spring in his step. It’s surprising for someone who had lost their archangel title to be so entirely comfortable in their mortal skin.

“Thank God,” Dean breathes out as he deflates with pure relief.

His head sinks into the pillow underneath his head and his eyes close momentarily. The battle plays out in his head and in the end, he can’t decide how he feels about it all. He was infinitely glad that both he and Castiel were very much alive. Gratified that they could now lead lives without having to be hidden in the woods or in caves or flying for their lives.

Yet he couldn’t shake off what had happened to Sam… Sam had been taken into Death’s grasp so quickly, just with a snap of Satan’s fingers. But then again in a way, like Castiel had said, Sam was gone since the day the demons took him away.

“No Dean,” Gabriel says.

Dean opens his eyes and looks at Gabriel questioningly.

“We’re thanking you. Not God,” he explains.

The crinkles by Dean’s eyes deepen and humbled, he ducks his head down. After a moment of silence, he breaks it by sighing heavily then saying, “So, what’s going on? Give me the lowdown.”

“We’re in paradise,” Gabriel gestures around him. “No—” he says after Dean’s wide-eyed gape “—not Heaven. I meant here on Earth. Instead of evil steamrolling the place, peace has taken the reigns and it’s spreading quickly.”

“Peace,” Dean says it slowly like it's a foreign word. The corners of his lips lift as he feels Castiel shift, hand coming up to rest on Dean’s collarbone, fingers slightly curling. Dean rests his hand over Castiel’s hand.

“And it’s all thanks to you couple of crazies,” Gabriel chuckles. “Who would’ve thought, huh?”  
“Who would’ve thought,” Dean repeats wanting to kiss Castiel awake but reluctant to do so in Gabriel’s company and in case the newly made human needed rest.

“With Lucifer gone, the world’s getting warmer each day,” Gabriel announces. “Me being the messenger the last few days I’ve been spreading the good word and getting some of my siblings to do the same. I’ve been getting my peeps to start thinking about living again.”

“That’s good,” Dean says, unsure of what else to say as the concept of having a chance of building a life of his own dawns on him. For the first time in a very long time Dean is thinking about what he _wants_ to do next. It had been a constant roller coaster and now it was time to hop off the ride.

“Heck yeah it’s good!” Gabriel exclaims. “You and Castiel are gonna be legends that in generation to come will be thought of as heroes, which is what you guys truly are.”

Dean smiles. “Thanks, man.”

“No problem-o,” Gabriel waves a dismissive hand. “You’ve had your trials and tribulations but now it’s time for the aftermath party. Whatever you want for you and for your boy there,” he points to Castiel. “We’re all indebted to you for the things we put you through.”

“Dean?”

It’s a quiet murmur roughened by sleep from the stirring form of Dean’s Castiel. Dean perks up and gently shifts on to his side. His upper arm had been being used as a pillow but the two of them shift lazily to accommodate each other’s bodies and soon they’re sharing the same pillow. Green eyes rake over the slightly pouting pink, sensuous lips and waiting and waiting for the fluttering eyelids to show him a sliver of blue.

“Cas,” Dean whispers back, apprehension makes his heart hammer against his ribcage.

The door closing makes his head jerk up and he realizes that Gabriel had left them to give them privacy. His attention is drawn back when fingers play the side of his face—tracing thoughtless lines— nails scraping just a touch. Dean turns his head and those fingers meet his lips.

It’s quiet between Dean and Castiel; a spell has been set upon them and is only broken the moment green eyes meet blue. Castiel drops his hand to Dean’s chest and the slightly freckled cheeks dimple as a wide smile comes over Dean’s face while that hand spreads out, barely kneading into the flesh, languid and loving.

“How are you?” Castiel asks, blinking slow and sleepily. He trembles when Dean reels him in, even though it’s far from cold and there’s nothing to be afraid of. Not anymore.

“Peachy, no thanks to you,” Dean replies quietly before he leans in and kisses his lover deep, open-mouthed with his tongue eventually gently probing at the other set of lips that are pressing fervently back.

Castiel hums into the kiss and arches off of the bed when Dean lightly nips playfully at his bottom lip. Dean breaks away from the kiss, drawing a low-pitched whine from the blue-eyed man. He wiggles impatiently from under the comforter, tangling himself even more in the fabric as he tries to chase Dean’s lips with his own.

Dean evades them with a hearty chuckle. “Easy, tiger.”

“But Deeaan,” Castiel grouses. Dean gasps more in surprise than in pain as a hand laces through his short brown hair, latching on and tugging hard.

“Kiss me,” Castiel demands in a hoarse voice as he leads Dean’s plump lips back to where (in his opinion) they belong with his own.

“Cas,” Dean murmurs into the kiss, “I was— trying— to take the bed covers— mmph!”

When Castiel’s tongue plunges into his mouth, Dean tries to wraps his legs around him in order to get closer but finds himself stuck in the twisted linen. As his frustration builds while he uselessly flails about, Castiel’s mouth insistent and pleasurable on his, the grace inside him lends a hand causing the duvet cover to… well, explode.

“Dean!” Castiel yelps in surprise, shielding his face with his hands when soft white feathers rain down upon them.

“Ah,” Dean grins sheepishly. “Oops?”

Recovering from his initial shock Castiel sits up and looks around them with owlishly with a gaping mouth. Dean puffs out his cheeks and blows a single feather from landing on his nose. It floats over to Castiel and sticks to his mop of dark hair. Their eyes meet and Dean bursts out laughing. Soon to join the contagious laughter is Castiel’s deep and bubbly giggles. A sound Dean had only ever heard once that time he’d first gotten wings. He’d lost control of them and ended up tumbling into the stream.

“Sorry Cas,” Dean says through chuckles, his stomach stitching. “I’ll try and get rid of it,” he concentrates hard, hands trembling.

Then the feathers are gone. When Dean looks back at his lover, he lets out a noise of surprise (it was _not_ a shriek) when he sees that the pajamas Castiel had been donning were gone. Castiel blinks at him. Then looks down at his naked body. His face is completely impassive.

“Oh,” is all he says.

“Uh…” Dean’s cheeks flood with red and his dick practically jumps in his boxers. He starts to salivate as he sets eyes on the already swelling prominence of Castiel’s cock.

“I believe,” Castiel says going on all fours and crawling toward Dean in a seductive manner, “that it is only fair if I take your clothes too.”

Dean gulps and nods more times than necessary. The naked man sits back on his legs right in front of the wingless angel, mimicking his sitting position. Dean’s red handprint on Castiel’s hipbone folds with his skin.

Oh, God does Dean want to touch.

He feels like he’s been starved and now a full plate is in front of him. But there’s that glint in Castiel’s eyes that keeps him still and he shivers with the anticipation. Smooth palms glide over his thighs and reach for the elastic waistline of his boxers. Dean’s cock— flushed red, glistening precome pearling at its head— peeks out of the wrinkled boxers.

“Cas,” he says in a wavering voice, weak at the knees and docile.

His legs move out from under him, the boxers slide down them easily and are pushed to the side. The same treatment is applied to his shirt and he’s bare for Castiel. Castiel presses a soft kiss to the handprint he left on Dean’s shoulder.

Dean feels heat all over and without any hesitation he proclaims, “You’re still my angel, Cas.”

“And you, the human I fell for,” Castiel looks into those green eyes and cups Dean’s face. He rubs the pad of his thumb over Dean’s cheekbone. “I love you.”

A lump rises in Dean’s throat and tears prick his eyes. “Come here, you,” he hauls Castiel’s head forward and attacks him with his lips. Kisses mark their way from lips to eyelids to where Castiel’s human heartbeat pulses under his chin.

“I’ll love you,” he says, no louder than a whisper between kisses, “till the end of time. We’ll be together like we promised, side by side, come whatever.”

Castiel suddenly ceases moving and his eyes implore Dean’s. Cheeks pink and puffing as he pants, a flash of fear crosses his face. “But Dean… I’m human now.”

“I’m going to rip the grace from my body,” Dean tells him.

Castiel chews his lip, looking lost and reluctant. “It’s painful.”

“I don’t care. If it means I can be with you and have a life and grow old—” Dean is cut off when the man crowds the wingless angel’s space, their cocks slotting together. Castiel is silent as he leans in to lick a long wet stripe up the side of Dean’s throat.

“Oh!” Dean sucks in a sharp breath, legs wrapping around Castiel’s waist.

He mewls at the soft scrape of teeth. The lapping tongue sends his hips driving up and thrusting mindlessly causing their cocks to rub and brush together every so often. Wantonly, Dean’s hand creeps in and wraps around their erect cocks.

Castiel’s thighs stiffen and he groans into Dean’s heated skin. His hand joins Dean’s and together they pull and squeeze and fondle. Dean lets his head fall back on to the top bar of the headrest he leans heavily against. Gasping for air through parted lips, every inch of his skin dampening with sweat.

“C-ah! Oh, _yes!_ Oh…” Dean helplessly paws at Castiel’s chest. “Cas— hey, wait. Let me… Let me lie down…”

Castiel shuffles backward while Dean slides down, removing his legs from Castiel’s waist and letting them fall open. Their eyes meet, both green and blue blazing bright with a profusion of emotions. Dean swallows hard before eloquently demanding, “Fuck me.”

“I don’t have anything to prepare you with…” Castiel trails off as Dean snatches at his wrist.

Seconds later, his digits are coated in a clear and almost greasy substance. The blue eyes widen and his slicked hand works its way down the length of Dean’s cock. Castiel’s fingers mould around the shape of Dean’s balls, hanging low and heavy. Dean angles his pelvis and hooks his knees over Castiel’s lowered shoulders.

The ring of muscle goes tight and a gasp punches out of Dean when the slippery length of a finger inches in. The stretch is bearable and the wingless angel nods for the second, only wincing briefly this time. Castiel’s face is patient and loving, head craning to kiss Dean wherever he can reach—inner thighs and stomach—while he whispers huskily.

“I was always so drawn to you,” he tells him while his two fingers are scissoring, “The curious human who protected me for no reason.”

A third finger is added and it brushes against that sweet spot making fire ignite under Dean’s skin.

Dean cries out and Castiel presses more comforting kisses to his skin.

“Then I had to look after you,” Castiel’s voice turns breathless while Dean grips on to his hair like a lifeline. “At f-first I was discontent but you were so…” he grunts when Dean massages his scalp. “So perfect beyond words.”

“Cas,” Dean groans and then the fingers are gone replaced by the blunt head of Castiel’s dick.

It pushes them both past the point of actual words, opting for low whines and broken moans. The drag of their skin together is torturous. The hands in Castiel’s hair become fists when the blue-eyed man pushes in too quick. Dean clenches around Castiel’s erect length, his eyes screwing closed with tears prickling in them.

“Sorry!” Castiel gasps and all his movements cease. “Sorry— Sorry I’m so sorry.”

“I’m fine,” Dean breathes out as the pain melts away. The backs of his calves pull Castiel further in and it’s not soon after that he bottoms out, fully inside Dean.

“ _Dean,_ ” Castiel growls into his lover’s neck and grinds down following with a quick jerk of his hips.

Dean howls, throwing his head back and spine arching even while Castiel folds him further in half. The thrusts soon turn animalistic the pounding of the headrest against the wall can hardly be heard over the noises of the two lovers. The bed’s springs are put under pressure as the sound of skin slapping against skin increase with volume and consistency. Dean watches with lust blown eyes as his partner grows wilder and wilder with every second that passes and is the first to come.

Thighs stiffening and stomach tightening—his load shoots out in long white streams over his and Castiel’s stomachs. He screams his pleasure to the ceiling. The stars in his vision eventually fade. Castiel’s plunges into him grow even more frenzied and his hands on Dean’s thighs tightening hard enough to leave bruises. Then his come is suddenly coating Dean’s insides.

“D-Dean!” Castiel’s whole body turns as limp as a wet noodle, collapsing against Dean, not even caring about the stickiness.

They lie there sated, bodies compliant and worn out. Their gulps for air the only sound in the room besides their hammering hearts. Soon enough Dean wiggles uncomfortably at the feel of Castiel’s soft dick up his ass and sighs with relief as his lover backs out, gently easing out. His legs drop to the mattress, a good kind of soreness burning inside of him. Castiel flops to the side and lands heavily on his back, chest moving up and down with his shallow breaths.

Dean uses his borrowed grace to clean the come that had splattered over them moments ago. He flings an arm around Castiel’s waist, turning over on to his side. Castiel puts a hand on his forearm and causes gooseflesh to prickle where he touches. He silently lifts his arm in an offer and Dean takes it with no hesitation— cuddling, would you believe it?

“We should have done that sooner,” Castiel comments, practically purring.

Dean laughs. “We can do it every day,” inexplicably shyly he adds, “if you want.”

Castiel rolls his eyes, a trait he picked up from Dean, “Of course I want to ‘do it’ with you,” the adorable little shit uses finger quotes (with some difficulty with his arms around Dean). “Every day. Perhaps even two or three times maybe four. Depends.”

“Yeah,” Dean agrees. “We have all the time in the world for each other now.”

“Good,” Castiel squeezes him tighter.

The sigh that leaves Dean’s reddened lips as Castiel’s arms holds him close is one of happiness. Perhaps from now on they could be truly happy without the worries of the Apocalypse or Lucifer hanging heavy over their heads like a relentless raincloud.

Castiel turns his head and kisses Dean on the tip of his nose.

Dean blinks, surprised.

Then he doesn’t even bother to fight the grin off his face. Castiel replies with his own toothy smile: wide and gummy. Those azure blue eyes are glowing with a cheer that Dean’s never seen in him before.

“I love you,” Castiel tells him with conviction. “And I will, forevermore.”

“Good,” Dean says almost choking with joy. He’s never been good with words but there so lighthearted and in love; he spills his desires to Castiel: “I want to be with you forever, Cas.”

“Me too,” Castiel’s eyes take a glassy sheen to them, the skin by the corners crinkling.

“I love you too,” Dean says, getting lost in Castiel’s eyes. “More than a _nything._ More than a _nyone_ I’ve ever known… I’m yours,” he finishes with a whisper and he leans in to kiss his savior, his light, his love.

His eyes close, content and at peace. 

 

 The End _  
_

  (not quite)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Love to know your thoughts! Get ready for the Epilogue ;)


	25. Epilogue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is it, folks!

True to his word, Dean Winchester went through the process of reinstating the archangel status for his good friend, Gabriel. It was as Castiel had warned, painful. As the last of it left him, Dean crumbled to his knees and he was human once again. The colours of the world around him dimmed considerably as did its intricate details. When Castiel helped him back to his feet he felt incredibly small and weak. His feet dragged and his head was brewing up one hell of a headache.

Ah, it was good to be human.

At least Castiel seemed to think so. He once told Dean that he liked being a human more than he did an angel. When Dean had asked why, Castiel had said the reason was that: ‘it felt more intimate’. After mulling that statement, the green-eyed man felt that he could both relate to it and that it was a good enough reason for the both of them to remain human.

Of course there had been a few mishaps. Situations ranging from: Castiel stubbing his toe on something (the poor guy produced tears the first time) to one rather embarrassing bedwetting experience. Whatever it was Castiel often would become frustrated and flustered. But Dean was always there to help him just like his angel had when he first sprouted his wings. ‘Baby steps’ he constantly told Castiel.

Gabriel ended up being one of the last archangels stationed on Earth and it took a few years before all angel and demon activities came to a stop. All kinds of creature helped to rid traces of the Apocalypse— gone but not forgotten. Dean and Castiel got word that some kid named Kevin Tran who somehow had survived the war was something called a Prophet. They never met the boy in person but he was the key that permanently locked the Gates of Hell and for that the name never left their heads. Once all was said and done, Gabriel sent every single angel back to Heaven. They went willingly as most of them were eager for the fighting to stop and ready to go home.

One of the first places Dean and Castiel travelled to was back to Lawrence, Kansas. Dean had wanted to see what was left of the home he once had before the Winchester’s were so brutally introduced to the hunting life. The journey had been on foot and Castiel had been a whiny bitch through it all, complaining about sore feet and that he was too tired and thirsty all the time. Whenever they rested Dean would rub Castiel’s feet saying that he would murder his partner if he told anyone what a huge sap he was. When they got there, it’s only to discover that the place is nothing but rubble. Just like most homes. Dean finds that he doesn’t mind. He sees it as a new slate. Time to forget the past he had and think of a future with Castiel.

The next stop is the town that John, Sam and Dean had called home for a while. The results are better than Lawrence.

Dean was brought instantly to tears and such joyous laughter when he set eyes on a surly old man wearing a trucker cap. Bobby Singer, the tough son of a bitch had survived. Dean’s lungs still remember how much trouble they had during the tight embrace good ole Uncle Bobby had given him.

There were two reasons for the bear hug: one being that everyone thought the boys had been murdered by the angel they’d shot down and two… Well, two, John Winchester was dead. He’d scoured the forest, through rock and leaf and twig. For weeks he searched only to misplace his foot and end up in the bottom of a ravine. Bobby held Dean while his shoulders trembled with the weight of the news.

But with the bad came with good as well. Still kicking, Ellen Harvelle had slapped him across the face then kissed him on the lips. She told him how stupid he was but how she was so glad that he was well. Her daughter Jo was alive too, the blonde looking as pretty as ever, and she too smooched Dean— long and hard. The tough girl had tears in her eyes.

Castiel was only a tad jealous of the shows of affection, as Dean learnt very well that night.

Everyone welcomed them to stay, but of course there were questions. Where had Dean been? Where was Sam? Who was this new pretty boy with the blue eyes and dark hair? Castiel was the one to tell their story. It was silent save for his gravelly and deep tones, everyone transfixed and in awe. He told them how fate and destiny were funny things. How they brought him and Dean together. How the angel felt fear for the first time but how love, joy and peace came into play and showed him hope.

Some didn’t believe them. Some did. It didn’t really matter because Dean and Castiel were right in the thick of it. It was their memory that mattered the most.

Castiel was hated by a few just on the basis of what he had been. The men and women treated him with the same prejudice that Dean had about angels. It had only been a few days of their stay when Castiel was attacked. The man was resting in his and Dean’s apartment when the door was kicked open. He was up in two seconds flat. Castiel fought his hardest but he was only human and was outnumbered. Seven to one.

They dragged him into a secluded spot and used him to satisfy their hatred and grief. Dean had been with Bobby at the time when he heard the scream of his beloved. It was quickly decided that a new location for their home would be needed when he was cradling Castiel whom was crying for him, bloodied, bruised and with a broken arm. Dean honestly didn’t understand people at times like that.

Only known to a select few was their home hidden in the woods where all of this started. Castiel had prayed for Gabriel who came in the time it took Dean to blink. The archangel tenderly placed a hand on Castiel’s forehead and his hurt was healed. They asked him for his help to build a home where they could be safe. So with his ‘angel construction team’ Gabriel built them a place that Castiel fondly called ‘their nest’ like the cave they’d found refuge in while Dean was becoming an angel.

Supplies were never a problem for on each Sunday an angel would visit them and the couple would give them a list in which the angel would collect the items on it for them. Dean relished in cooking and no one was able to find a spot of dust in ‘ _his_ ’ kitchen. At one dinner, Castiel commented that eating was annoying and that they could better use the time for ‘ _other activities_ ’ to which Dean promptly choked on his burger then laughed for a good ten minutes. That day the meal was abandoned, courtesy of Castiel.

Water was not a problem either, for plumbing had been installed while using the water from a borehole. Dean was insistent on the fact that he wanted hot water and Castiel quickly learnt that he enjoyed both showers and baths (especially if Dean was there to join him).

It was the easiest lifestyle both Dean and Castiel had ever lead.

They would be lying if they ever said they never fought, because they did— quite often. Perhaps it was the close quarters or the few visitors but there had been times where hurtful words or even punches were exchanged and lead with either Castiel or Dean leaving the house with a bruised heart or face. Then minutes later the other would rush from the house and search for them with a hoarse voice and tear-stained cheeks. Castiel discovered that the human life always has its ups and downs but the strength of the love between him and Dean never faltered for a second. Not even after death.

They were human after all.

Death came a-knocking, as Dean put it and it felt as if their time together had been _so long_ and they were happy with it.

Castiel had died first. His azure eyes locked on Dean’s face—calm and ready— with soft and comforting words for his love. Dean couldn’t believe it. Here Castiel was on his last breath and he was using to console Dean. Promises of a Heaven together and that they would exist forever in a place where time didn’t apply.

“Don’t be afraid,” Castiel said weakly, shoulders trembling with effort.

Dean hushed him with his lips. “I won’t be… See you on the other side, Cas,” the human whispered.

The hand that Dean held in his hand steadily grew heavier and colder. Castiel’s breathing was labored till it stopped all together and his fingers laced with Dean went loose. Tears still choked the human as he witnessed his angel leave the world in which he was left behind. However, their time of being separated was short for when the sun rose the next day, Dean too was gone.

He woke up the next day with the feeling that nothing had changed. That Castiel was dead and he would have to painfully wait for the day till he too would be taken. He rolled on to his side with his eyes still closed and exhaled heavily into his pillow. Dean’s hand went out to reach for the other side of the bed, reaching for Castiel but finding the place next to him empty.

His fingers curl into the mattress as sadness clamps tightly around his heart. Dean was waiting for the pain. Ever since the Devil had shoved that knife through his heart, there would be a painful twinge deep in his chest to remind him of that event. But it never came. Dean opened his eyes and looked down at his chest.

“What the fuck!” He yelped and shot up, eyes bulging in wonderment as he stared down at his young-looking body.

Dean’s hands skimmed over his de-aged self, over the toned and muscular skin. He even fondly prodded at the roll of pudge at his lower abdomen that he used to hate as a young man. His hands went to his face and no longer could he feel the wrinkles he’d gained, he felt as smooth as a baby’s butt.

Dean roared with delighted laughter and stopped out of sheer surprise because his laugh no longer sounded croaky or feeble. It was rich and young and he felt like himself once again. Dean cried out in shock as the door burst open with a bang and handfuls of glitter and little squares of colorful paper. He covered his face with his hands out of habit, then, peeked through his fingers and promptly made a noise that did not sound human in the slightest.

“Welcome to Heaven, bucko!” Gabriel shouted gleefully, golden wings looking as magnificent as always.

“Gabe?” Dean gasped and his jaw dropped. “W-Wait a minute! Did you say Heaven?” He looks around. “This…”

“Yep!” Gabriel blew on his party horn with gusto. He pulled it away from his lips with a ‘pop’. “Now usually normal peeps go through their finest memories in life and such but, alas, you’re not normal! So, I’m taking you, skipping the intro and going to the fun part,” he reaches over and yanks Dean out of the bed.

“Whoa!” Dean squeaked. “Hey! Do you know where Cas is? Where are you taking me? Wait, what’s going—?”

Gabriel led him out of the nest’s bedroom and into a room that wasn’t familiar to Dean. At first he was a bit disorientated by the blinking lights and noisy chatter. It was a party. There were streamers and balloons. There was soft rock music playing in the background and it mingled with recognizable voices.

“Yo!” Gabriel shouted. “Guys! I found the guest of honor! In his boxers, yes, but I quickly took care of that. Though Cassie may be the only disappointed one about that! Hah!”

Boxers? Dean glanced down and jolted in surprise once again to see that he now donned a rather suave dark forest green three-piece suit.  His head snapped upwards as he was suddenly dragged forward by the wrist and into the arms of…

“Sam!” Dean chokes, arms instantly going around his younger brother’s shaking shoulders. His hand braced the back of Sam’s head and held it where it was, tucked close to his neck. Dean let the tears slip freely down his face as Sam too cried into his older brother’s shoulder.

“Dean,” Sam sniffled. “Dean.”

“It’s okay Sam,” Dean’s squeezed shut and he tightened the embrace before letting go. He drank in the sight of his brother’s face. Though marred with tears, the goofy grin was on his kid’s brother’s face and everything felt right. Then his eyes caught a flash of golden blonde hair and his heart (though technically he was dead already) stopped. Sam’s arms slipped free and stepped aside to allow Dean a clear and straight path to Mary, their mother. It all came back to him once he breathed in her scent, sweet spices and cooked apple.

“M-Mom,” he sobbed, his hands forming fists around the fabric of the back of her dress. She pulled back slightly and peppered his face with a shower of the motherly kisses he missed so much.

“It’s okay baby,” she told him then drew him in for another hug. “It’s okay.”  
“I love you, Mom,” Dean said, muffled by her curls of hair.

“I love you too, honey,” she kissed him on the cheek. Her voice was wet with tears. “And I’m so proud of you…”

Dean just whimpered and nuzzled closer to his mother. She combed her hand through his hair until he felt as if he could glow with the amount of affection and love she was passing on to him. Once the water works finally stopped, he pulled away and sniffed quietly while his cheeks burned red.

“Sorry,” he said.

“Don't be,” Mary whispered and tapped him softly on the tip of his nose. Her line of vision adjusted to behind Dean and her face brightened eve more if that was possible. God, she was beautiful. “Oh!” She clapped her hands together. “Here’s your boy, what a very lovely one too, Dean.”

Dean’s breath hitched as someone from behind him tangled their fingers with his. His eyes fluttered closed when supple lips kissed a line from behind his ear and followed the curve of his neck.

“Hello Dean,” a gravelly and deep voice murmured, laced with happiness.

Dean’s eyes opened and he let himself be spun around until he was chest-to-chest with Castiel. Chills tickled down his spine and the grin that spread over his lips felt almost painful from how broad it was. He couldn’t help it. His Cas was right here in front of him. From head to toe the man was blindingly gorgeous and Dean couldn’t take his eyes off of him. Castiel’s hands settled on Dean with an air of affinity and comfortableness, one on the waist and the other directly under Dean’s chin.

“Lookin’ good, Cas,” Dean said as his hand came up to cup Castiel’s jaw, he licked his lips, feeling distracted by the thumb that stroked the cleft in his chin.

“I missed you,” Castiel revealed quietly, like it was a secret. “Even though it was not even a day.”

“Me too,” Dean said— ducking his head out of habit— after all; it had always been like this.

Castiel so beautiful just by _being_ making Dean’s heart melt, jump and do friggin somersaults. But then again. His heart belonged to Castiel, so he guessed it would do whatever for him. Castiel tilted Dean’s head up so their lips were in alignment then kissed him. The room erupted with wild hoots and cheers, wolf-whistles and catcalls. A huff of laughter passed through the kiss and Dean’s hand slid to gently hold Castiel’s throat, he angled his head to deepen the presses of their lips.

“Whoa, there!” Gabriel suddenly cried out. “Time out, boys, no PDA in Heaven!”

Castiel aimed his middle finger in Gabriel’s direction and only Dean’s angel would get the mark spot on. Laughter rung through the room and with their lips still joined, Dean’s hands glided to Castiel’s lapels and tugged hard and brought their bodies even closer.

“Love you,” he told him before he planted a final— if not a little sloppy— kiss on Castiel’s lips. “Honey-bun.”

Castiel shook his head, laughing lines deepening. “Oh, no,” he grinned. “We are _never_ going through another ‘pet names’ stage ever again.”

“Aw come on,” Dean shifts so their foreheads touched and he joined their hands. He kissed Castiel on the nose. “You know you love it, Schnookums.”

Castiel rolled his eyes. “Does this mean I can call you Puppy Poo or Kitten Pickles or Moo Moo again?”

Dean grimaced and his face blanched, he leaned back. “You know what? I think I can live without that, for like, ever.”

“Forever,” Castiel said. And it was just like old times when the world was in a Lucifer’s winter and they promised to stick by each other through thick and thin. And that’s what they had done.

“We had a forever,” Dean reminded Castiel. “But I sure as hell am ready for one more round.”

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, the end! :)
> 
> Thanks for all the kudos and feedback/comments, you awesome peeps.


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